Collaborative: Into Dust
by Igrayne01
Summary: The third collaborative story in a trilogy by the members of Carth Community, the heroes of the Republic struggle to come to terms with the events of Everything Burns while preparing for Rani Taraster's impending nuptials to Carth Onasi.
1. Shadows of the Past

Two figures sprinted over the amber landscape, their long shadows bleeding into the spires of the petrified grove. The man in front leapt gracefully over stones and crumbled altars. The hooded man was impervious to the debris and simply glided above it.

In little time, the man in front cleared the malicious ruins and loped his way down towards the broad, sun streaked basin. There, Kath hounds were sure to make light work of one or both the men. At least, the man in front hoped that's how he'd live to die.

The grove was at his back, but he could still feel the pulsating hatred of it, fed to bursting by the menace of the hooded man who seemed to almost glow with dark side energy.

The hooded man allowed his target to reach the basin. His intention was not to kill the man, though not yet. If he must confess, the hooded man did not _dislike _his target nor did he bear him any ill will. But needs must. The hooded man sighed inwardly.

The man in front arrived at the flat and sloping basin. On another day it would have been beautiful. There was sparse cover amongst the trees that lined its sloping walls, but the ground was more even here, and he could make better time. He willed his strides to grow, leaping from one foot to the other while his strong heart thundered in his chest. The grass was high and thick. It snapped and clung to his legs and robe, trying to catch him up, or slow him down. He didn't care which.

The hooded man had no such difficulty, though. He wanted the grass to bow as he trod above, and so it did. He could hear the breathing of the man in front—it was ragged and tore at the man's throat—but it did not cause him to falter. Which was well. The man in front was tired, yes, but their chase had just begun.

Through his sweat-stinging vision, the man in front could see a small herd of Kath hounds. Their leader stood at attention, his massive chest swollen with authority. The man implored the beast to make his move and to make it quickly and honorably.

The hooded man had been watching the Kath hounds for some time. He disliked them, their musty stink riding the breeze all the way to his groping sinuses. So he told the hound leader to stand his ground, and the thing did so.

It was not to be, the man in front told himself, more relieved than disheartened as he galloped past the eerily still beasts. The valley was in his sights now, and beyond that was the enclave. He was unsure of what he hoped to find there. Would the hooded man defile it, the way he had the temple? Or would these Jedi have heard the warning and prepared themselves? As he began his descent through the short valley, the man tried to send his mind ahead. He groped through the enclave, sniping his consciousness into darkened rooms and along grand hallways. He found no one there, which both surprised and pleased him.

The man in front fled through the sloping valley— there was another herd of Kath hounds here, but they might have been made of stone as he passed—and into a clearing at the foot of steep hills. The grass was short and well-trod and he was able to make good time. He hurtled himself over the dainty footbridge, not even slowing for the few stairs that elevated it, but plunging over them.

As he closed in on the enclave a lingering feeling of stillness crept over him, it was the feeling of the enclave here on Dantooine and as personal as its scent. The man in front could feel his pursuer slackening, no doubt mired by the prevailing essence of hundreds of light side Jedi.

For a few truly dreadful seconds, the man in front feared that the enclave had been sealed by the last departing knight, but as he descended into the entrance way, a lean crack amongst the hulking double doors gave him hope. The crack was indeed narrow, but the man grasped it, thrusting his fingers into the crevasse and heaving with every shred of strength he had left. One of the massive doors moaned and gave way to his desperate bidding. He slipped through the gap, but his outer robe caught on something and would not budge. The man shed his garment without sentimentality and applied all his force to pulling the door shut behind him. But centuries of standing open – like a beacon for all in need—had rusted its mighty hinges and the man could only pull it to within a few inches of closing. That would be enough though. Although he had never met his pursuer, he knew the hooded man as intimately as a lover and knew his Goliath strength was mental, not physical. Even if the hooded man could manage to re-open the doors it would sap most of his energy and all of his proximity.

The man in front continued through the enclave in a hurried trot, taking his breaths in hoarse lung-fulls. The enclave was as he'd never seen it (and never hoped he would). The only inhabitants were thick and moist foliage and nondescript rodents which he heard rather than saw. Every surface which he passed told of decay and ruin. Centuries, at least, had passed since anyone trod these halls and the air was dark and thick with vegetation and crumbling stone.

Many of the doors and hallways that he passed had given up their fight with time and were so over-grown that hacking his way through might have taken hours. In other places, rubbery tree roots as thick as his waist had thrust their way through walls and ceilings, collapsing their frames and sealing their rooms beyond, indefinitely.

The man in front hurried through the jungle of ruins and further into the depths of the enclave, seeking the heart of the sanctuary beyond the ground level halls reserved for visitors. The first flight of stairs he came to had collapsed long ago, leaving a gaping stone mouth deep enough to break a man so unlucky as to fall in.

But the next entry down into the living quarters had fared better against time. The man set off down these, angling his body against the wall and taking two steps at a time. He slid his hand along the wall for support; under it stone, eroded by insidious dust, sloughed off and crumbled to the floor.

At the bottom of the stairs, the man in front quickened his pace. Time had left its mark here as indelibly as above, but the moisture had not yet entirely seeped through and the floor and walls were less slick with growth.

The hooded man reached the heavy double doors into the enclave and slowed. He was not nearly as tired as the man in front (he had been trained for this day for most of his adult life) but what he was about to do required concentration. He approached the slim crack between the doors inquisitively, examining the space and fingering the corners of ancient wood. They were old and hard, but still smooth enough to do for him. The hooded man systematically undid the toggles of his robe with dexterous, six-jointed fingers and dropped it neatly between the doors, a-top the other man's robe.

He sidled closer to the crack and cautiously, very cautiously, began to slide one delicate shoulder into the space. The glossy warts which riddled his skin burst as the pressure of the door massaged them flat. They spewed little jets of iridescent mucus that lubricated his way further between the doors. His shoulder socket dislocated with an audible squelching noise, followed by his hip and pelvis when it was their turn. His head was more difficult, however. Half way through the crack an immense and uncomfortable pressure built up within one side. The liquid which filled his head was being wrung into one place, inflating his boneless, conclave face till it felt like bursting.

Now, with the rest of him on the inside of the door, the hooded man reached his thin arms though the crevasse and began massaging the fluid back into the deflated side of his head with orgasmic relish. By working his head through the door—like working the juice from a lemon—the hooded man was able to extract himself completely. He stooped and gathered his robe (the inside cool and moist against his skin) and set out in the direction of the man in front. Behind him, the ejaculated mucus began to erode the wooden doors.

The man in front continued his trot through the cavernous collapsed halls. He quickened his pace having caught his breath and because, if he was honest with himself, the whole place had a nightmarish quality which pricked his skin and made his hairs stand on end. Although his own footfalls were stealthy, there were shuddering, breathy noises he could not account for. He stretched his empathy out before in an invisible mist, but could detect no life beyond the lingering scent of history.

As he trekked the labyrinthine ruins, his anxiety began to mount again. He had fled into the enclave as a deterrent against the hooded man but was now deeply unsure if he'd find his way out. As if in mockery of his fears, the thunder of a collapsing wall exploded through the tomb-like halls. The ground beneath the man shook ominously, but when he turned to look in the direction of the collapse, he saw only the grainy screen of dust motes which populated these recesses.

Yawning halls gave way to echoing passages where rubble punctuated the man's path and made it difficult for him to keep his bearings. He jogged doggedly for what felt like hours, his route preselected by the destruction of the enclave.

The man unbuttoned his mind a second time, sending tentacle feelers of his psyche out and around him. Faintly, and far off, his empathy curved around a slow beacon. His feet turned him towards the calling and as he drew nearer he began to caress understanding from the found thing. It wasn't human or alien, it wasn't entirely sentient, but it was very much alive and very much needed his help.

The man in front turned down a crumbling corridor and scrambled over a precarious hill of debris. The going was more difficult here, the floor jagged and uneven with tumbling plaster and pebbles raining constantly around him. But the challenge of it made him more determined to press on. By the time he'd focused the inarticulate pleading call to behind a large cave-in, his conscious mind had completely forgotten his pursuer.

It was arduous work, but not impossible, to tunnel his way through the collapse. His lightsaber (though designed for no such work) allowed him to lever many of the larger stones out of his way. The more detritus he shifted, the more plaintive the call became, until the man was compelled to slither through the small opening he'd clawed loose.

He emerged (his remaining clothes in filthy tatters, his fingers and hands bruised and bleeding) into a billowing, entombed space that had once been the prized enclave archives. Although most of the architecture had remained intact, the poor environment had taken its toll on the library's acquisitions. The air was thick and heavy with decaying fibers, making the man's lungs tingle. But that was of secondary concern; lying naked on a pedestal in the center of the sprawling room was his objective—as helpless as a child and as eminent as a king. It was a journal, and a history; a record, and story, and it suddenly seemed like the most important and sacred thing in all of the man's life—in all of everyone's lives.

Far away, through the forgotten bowels of the enclave, the hooded man's heart skipped, then began to rattle within his brittle chest. The man in front was _remembering_. And when he remembered it all, then it would be at its most vulnerable. The hooded man began to pant with anticipation…and something else…something he had not allowed himself to feel in a very long time. Hope.

Within the archive room, the man in front was suddenly seized with an ice cold fear. This was different to the personal terrors wrung from him by thoughts of the hooded man, this was a bottomless pit that seemed to suck away at every other emotion till he housed only dread. He could feel the edges of his fear cracking and splintering his walls of sanity and he knew that this fear would drive him mad if it could. He suddenly also knew that this book—this ancient, parched little relic—was the only thing that stood between him and his galaxy spanning loss. And worse still, the little relic seemed pathetically aware of its own fate.

The man tenderly lifted the book from its dais with all the care he'd show a dying child, his dying child. The book was surprisingly heavy and well worn, like its creators had often amended it. Once free of its perch, the dais shuddered as though very tired and crumbled before the man's wide eyes. It fell without a single sound, its purpose so utterly served that even noise was irrelevant now.

Thick gray dust rose around the man's feet, one final striving act to be near the book, then deathly silence smothered the room.

Then came the sound of the man's deep and reverential breathing.

Then came the sound of the hooded man's.

Regardless of their personal anxieties a deeply pervasive calm settled over the two Jedi. Decades of training (training above all else, always the ways of the Jedi, always the code) animated their movements. The man who had been in front slid the book inside his tunic, beneath his broad belt. It fit perfectly, as though it were a part of him.

For passion and for peace, the two Jedi engaged their swords—elegant weapons during an inelegant time. The presence of the sabers somehow mutated the sacred space, their vibrant hum and lights casting macabre shadows over already fantastic distorted statuary and dripping, haggard murals.

The man who had been in front struck the first blow, his strength and agility were faultless, but his opponent's defense was unique and confounding.

The hooded man wielded his light saber deftly, but his skill was in his mind, not his body, and he levitated the blade nimbly above his hands, attacks and defenses unhampered by the weakness of his body. Whereas the other Jedi had been trained to wield his sword like an extension of himself, his strengths and weaknesses in tow, the hooded man exploited his as the tool it was, like a commander over his infantry.

In the end, the other man would have perhaps proven a greater duelist, but the hooded man's disembodied dexterity gave him the single advantage he needed in that place at that time. The other man's disengage left his belly momentarily exposed and the hooded man's saber took a broad, if shallow, strike.

Mercifully (or perhaps cursedly, time would tell) the ancient book spared the man's kidneys, its own entrails fluttering to the floor.

The hooded man redoubled his attack, taking full advantage of the other man's surprise. But his saber was only one weapon and if he wanted to prevail he would need a less defendable one.

Within milliseconds of his glancing blow, the hooded man propelled a storm of wreckage at his opponent. The man avoided the first assault, brandishing his saber to deflect some of the projectiles. His blade roared through the still air, sending sparks and red glowing stone flying through the room. But the hooded man compelled a Force strength which the other man had rarely seen and was ill prepared for.

He dodged the second fleet of wreckage, but it was close, a few shards of crusted metal tore at his cheek and loosened a chunk of his ear. Hot blood gushed freely from the trivial wounds. He did not feel pain, but the river of fluid clogged his hearing and briefly devastated his balance. He over-compensated as fragmented pillars of stone sliced their way towards him, dodging too far to his side, stumbling for balance and tripping over dislodged debris. He fell lightly and rolled away into a tall, looming aisle of empty shelves.

What little light had skulked into the deep room was only able to satiate the vast central space; the snaking aisles which branched off it were left in leaden darkness. But the man's saber was still extended and cast its willful light deep into the alcove, revealing a small door which at first the man didn't remember from his time spent here. He darted towards it, having to scurry out of the way of shrapnel from the hooded man's next attack. As he drew closer to the door; he thought he could maybe remember it after all, he remembered there being an escape when he'd needed it, but he couldn't yet remember where it led.

More pages fluttered helplessly from the wounded book like blood. The man's eyes focused on one drifting page with morbid clarity. It was a title page and it read:

THE CULLING OF DANTOOINE AND  
>THE PRODIGAL JEDI<p>

Yes, the man thought he could conjure illicit memories of the culling; but trying to do so tasted bitter and inorganic.

And there was something else on the page which he recognized. It was a drawing in uncanny detail of the archives, ancient and moldering; and near the center background of the drawing there was a man fleeing from something into a vacuous doorway which didn't seem to lead to anything. But the running man was entirely alone in the giant room, save for the book obscured beneath his bloody tunic, billowing its essence as he ran. And on the pages of the book was another, smaller drawing of the room, and the man, and the bleeding book, and on and on till madness threatened to set in.

The man dove through the vortex-doorway and the hit the ground running.

But he was less sure of his footing here on Coruscant. The underlevels were mostly in darkness, punctuated only by dizzying track lighting which vomited fickle light that never quite landed in his path.

He didn't bother to see if the hooded man had followed, knowing he was already here somewhere. Coruscant was the jewel in the Sith empire and Dark Force had made the air close and sultry.

The man in front was on the run again, only he knew better than to look for help here. He'd heard rumors of a Sith resistance movement which cloaked itself within the violent and hedonistic lairs of the underlevels. But he'd also heard of their aggressive reputation (and there was that bitter, almost noxious taste of forbidden memory again). No, the book was his as surely as his heart or mind and he would share it with no one.

He'd not had reason to trespass within the underlevels (how long had it been, decades? Centuries?) and they'd changed much in his absence, all for the worst, if that was even possible. There was not the sense of calculated destruction here as there had been in the enclave, but his path still did not feel his own; poorly disguised traps hailed gang territories and he kept his path well clear of the darkest cavities.

For the second time that day (or was it night?) the man in front stretched his empathy out beyond his body, searching for any sentient life besides his own. It was not until now that he realized the hooded man left none of his life behind. He could _feel_ the hooded man in his mind, oiling his way into private thoughts and barricades he'd been so careful to always keep erect—and which the hooded man had only raged against, not plundered. But the _physical_ presence of the man was as void as any daylight shining down here.

For comfort and reassurance, the man in front stroked the book beneath his tunic. It was horribly damaged, having shed almost half its essence during his fight with the hooded man. If he could not find another hiding place for the book, he feared it would fall apart entirely, if his hooded executioner did not destroy it first.

Thinking of this made the man in front - at least, he hoped he was still in front- quicken his pace. But he was running almost blind and completely lost and his empathy told him the deep hollows below Coruscant were as quiet as Dantooine.

"In here!" a woman's voice trilled.

The man in front spun round, his heart nearly flying through his chest. He stood facing a beautiful Zeltron, her hair hanging like silk to her knees. The man in front could only pant, his shoulders heaving up and down with exhaustion and surprise. The woman waited a moment for him to react, but when he did not she stepped out from the doorway which half hid her. She darted her eyes up and down the walkway, her uneasiness mirroring the man's. _The enemy of my enemy_…the phrase popping into his mind unbidden.

"Come," the woman said. Although she spoke in a careful whisper, her voice still seemed piercing in the cadaverous space. She took his hand, hers unusually soft, and led him shyly but firmly back into her quarters.

The man allowed her to lead him like a lost dog. After all, he had so few options left to him…and he sensed…nothing from her. But she was real; he could smell her and feel her warm hand in his own.

As soon as they were both inside she quickly locked the door behind them, wincing with each click and tick her key made in it. The man eyed this new room, wary of his good fortune. It was a standard Lower home, dark, hot and mired in the sort of age-old filth which erodes pride as surely as it does beauty.

The man turned slowly to surmise his hostess. She was already watching him, her back pressed hard against the door and her face creased in apprehension.

"I was worried you weren't coming. Or weren't able to come, which is worse, I suppose…" she trailed off.

A million questions vied for attention in the man's mind, and almost as many suspicions, yet there was something so very natural about the woman; as though she belonged here. Despite her strangeness, the man could not have felt more at ease with her if she had come from his own imagination.

"You know of me?" he asked, his voice sounding older than he'd remembered. It wasn't the wisest question, but it was the easiest to form in his confusion.

Now it was her turn to look confused. "Well, yes. I've been waiting for a long time."

The man said nothing, waiting for her to organize her explanation.

"I was sent here by the Order. Ever since you became a knight, the council felt it was wise to encourage another with your empathy, to 'watch' you, if you like. Only, I always thought of it as 'help' you, if you needed it."

"The Council!" The man had not even spared a thought for the council since his exodus began, but knowing that they had not forgotten him filled his heart. It was a little like going home and he was suddenly home-sick beyond all measure.

The woman sensed his distress. "You don't need to worry about them now, there's nothing you can do for them. I'm here, now, for you." She stepped away from the door, coming so close to the man that, even through the darkness, he could see his own silhouette reflected in her shining eyes. He was suddenly compelled to touch her porcelain features.

"Thank you" he said, resting his palm along her jaw.

She stroked her face against his hand, relishing the touch of another Jedi, another Jedi almost as strong as her.

"It's been so lonely." Her voice was very frail but her breath was full of life and warmth.

"Tell me." The man was surprised by his own acceptance of her, but relieved at the same time.

"No one has wanted to know me, because of my strength."

"Yes," he said, and he understood. Completely.

Without needing to prompt her, the woman brought her head forward, gently leaning her face against his chest. She was tall and the man could rest his cheek against the side of her hair. It was soft and sweet.

"You are strong too. This makes you strong." She gingerly touched her fingers to the book beneath his shirt. It shuddered away from her. "I would see it, if you would let me." The man was quiet, unsure and startled by her request. "It's why I'm here, why they sent me to you."

A serpentine sense of unease slowly roped its way through the man's guts. He could feel his skin run cold and rough against the surface of the book. But he wasn't sure if the relic was the cause, or the woman. She continued to run thin fingers over his shirt above the book. They made small circling patterns that the man found hypnotic. He was comfortable around her. As though she'd stepped from his own sub-conscious, as though he'd made her  
>up.<p>

"Shhh," she cooed. "This is only a small part of you; it is not all of you. Your strength is in its protection, not its knowledge. But it has made you tired, so tired." She placed her other hand upon his lips. It was cool and slightly wet, refreshing against his parched mouth. She leaned closer to him still and his skin came alive with longing. He let the woman place her lips against his, then he let her kiss him. And it all seemed so…natural. Like something from a perfect dream.

The woman delicately slid his tunic away from his torso and began to lift the book free. The sensation burnt, like she was tearing his very flesh. He tried to pull away but she deepened the kiss and for a moment it filled his mind. Then she wrenched the book away. The man screamed in agony and horror, doubling over to quell the gaping wound where his book had been.

Churning anguish drenched the man and he fell to his knees. His head was pounding black and red and a hot soup of bile and blood roared through his throat and into his mouth. He retched, hurling long ropes of intestine onto the floor and the woman's feet. But there was no blood and the man could see with chilling clarity that the she was no woman at all. Another thunderous retch shook his body, from end to end, and he collapsed onto the salvia-slimy floor. He tried to gather his guts into his hands, but they were too slick and only writhed out of his grip, slithering and lashing against his bare chest, their ragged tips questing blindly against the charred hole where the book had been.

Through his puss-filled eyes, he could see the hooded man above him; he was hunched motionless over the writhing, gurgling figure, extreme exhaustion and sympathy rising off him. In slime-soaked hands, the hooded man clutched the book. It's cover was gone, burnt away (like the flesh and muscle of the other man's stomach) and a title page was mockingly visible. A primal part of the tortured man's mind chose to read the page, as if knowing would somehow ease a little of his pain. It read:

REPUBLIC BETRAYED  
>AND THE BURNING OF THE OLD<p>

There was another drawing below this, but too much blood had obscured the image: not just the man's blood, but all those whose secrets he'd guarded. _With his life_, the thought pooled in his flaming mind but would not extinguish his now worthless existence.

* * *

><p>Tyro heard the sound of screaming and lunged into wakefulness, but the screaming had been his own. He dropped his head back onto the mattress. His chin and upper chest were heavy with crusting spit and he'd worried deep gashes into his stomach with his fists and fingers. But he was alive and whole. No, more important than that, he was alone and <em>awake<em>.

Deep, racking sobs took over his body and he let them redeem him, vanquishing his nightmares with painfully precious reality. Through his weeping, he inhaled the air of the Jedi Temple; it was still and lonely at this hour of the night, but it was here! Gradually, peace began to burrow its way into Tyro, and with it came an almost nostalgic curiosity for his fiendish dream. He cast his memories about, trying to pin down the source of his misery. But there was a tear in his mind. He stilled his blubbering and called on the Force for calm. Then he slid the fingers of his thoughts into the tear, seeking its 'why'.

And there was the hooded man. He stared into Tyro, deeper and with more earnest understanding than anyone had before or ever would again. In less than a heartbeat, the two Jedi exchanged empathies, Tyro's unutterable mistake and the hooded man's grief at the loss of a friend he'd never quite had. Then the hooded man cradled the feeble, disfigured book and the vision was lost.

And within the betrayed pages of his mind, Tyro felt that loss. And soon the Republic would fall. And beyond them the Jedi. Then all would be lost – hope and peace and reason. The dark would coil around every throat and breed within every heart till not even memories of the light were left. Except his own. Memories which the hooded man would molest again and again until every virgin secret was defiled and bleeding.

And Tyro did not wake up from this nightmare.

* * *

><p>It was a beautiful day for a wedding. The perpetual shroud of fog that usually engulfed Telos IV was notably absent on this day, and though holovision had threatened rain in the afternoon, there were no signs of the ominous clouds that were ever-present on the horizon. In fact, the whole planet seemed to have wakened from its usual trance to celebrate the joining of two of the Republic's most decorated heroes.<p>

Admiral Carth Onasi quickly dressed in his finest standard-issue uniform, complete with a full lapel of medals, in supremely good spirits. A quick knock sounded at the door, and though Tren said virtually nothing in greeting, the mutely approving stare of the younger man at the sight of Carth bedecked in his uniform spoke volumes. The two men fell into companionable silence as they trotted through the lengthy and seemingly never-ending hallways of Citadel Station, past the individual residences and the adjoining offices of Czerka and the Exchange. Though he usually felt some unease in passing these, today the familiar feeling was gone and in its place was a generous measure of pride. By sundown today, the beautiful Rani Taraster would be his wife.

It all seemed too perfect.

That thought seemed to germinate in his mind as he arrived at a small platform overlooking the newly restored atmosphere within the Restoration Zone. Many varieties of flora and fauna swarmed the terrain, providing an exhilarating burst of color as a backdrop for their nuptials. The chief holy man residing on Telos had practically insisted on the scenic locale, as the beautiful forest glades, fields of blue and lavender flowers, and rustic stone crags dominated the landscape. Nowhere else on the planet was there a sight to be had quite like this.

Although Carth could detect the many faces of his friends surrounding him, their features were all a blur melded together in his mind's eye. His eyes focused on only one thing: the slightly upraised platform before him, upon which his bride-to-be and the holy man stood awaiting him. He moved as though in slow motion, his limbs strangely prevented from going much faster than time would allow. Although it took some time for him to arrive at the dais, he finally did with excruciating slowness. As he came beside Rani, her face was aglow with love and in her eyes he saw the passion she had always harbored for him. The long, creamy gown she wore had been fashioned in a blindingly fast period of time by a staff of many able hands; its perfection showed forth in the thousands of glittering beads and the intricate lace-work that adorned the bodice. As the dress floated downward like gossamer, it grew more and more billowy, until finally Carth was uncertain where her feet ended and the ground began.

"You look beautiful," he whispered in hushed tones. Her smile was assurance enough that she had indeed heard him.

They clasped hands and turned together toward the holy man. Where his eyes should have been were two dark sockets that seemed to glow red from the core. His otherwise nondescript features, Carth thought, looked vaguely familiar. It was in sifting through his thoughts that he finally recalled the face the holy man's so closely resembled: Darth Eklipse.

The sheer terror Carth should have felt at Eklipse's presence was strangely absent. In fact, it seemed as though it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be standing at the head of the altar so piously, his hands joined together as he spoke the words that would marry the two.

Just as the Sith prompted them to say their vows, Rani's face took on a horror-stricken look, her deep, innocent brown eyes wide with fear. Carth turned to her, reaching his arms out, but they encircled only air. A dark spot began to seep through the folds of her wedding dress where her heart was, gaining in size with each passing moment. Carth watched as, powerless, he was unable to stop its spread. Soon, the single stain of blood overtook her, darkening her gown to a deepest crimson before she collapsed to the ground.

A chilling laughter resonated from the orifice he assumed was Eklipse's mouth, wide and distorted though it was.

Carth went to his knees, and though he could not touch her, she spoke to him still.

"_They_are coming! Get to your ship."

"I'm not leaving without you!"

Carth mechanically spoke the words, anticipating what Rani's response would be.

"…Too late for me…"

"No!" he screamed.

Desperately, Carth went from supine to sitting, flinging the covers off. Beside him, Rani stirred, blinking back fatigue.

"What is it?"

"Nothing… go back to bed, gorgeous."

Rani acquiesced, asleep in less than a minute. Carth stroked her luxuriantly soft curls out across the pillow, their length and sheen bringing to mind his late wife Morgana. And just as she had uttered her last words amid a thousand fatal bombings on this very planet, so too had Rani uttered them in his dream. Her voice and tone had eerily mimicked that of his wife's, and he couldn't help the dread that entered his heart at that very thought.

Carth ran a heavy hand through his mussed red-brown tresses, reassuring himself that it had only been a dream and that he was, in fact, safe inside their simple little apartment. He slipped out from under the bed—careful not to disturb Rani—and went to the window, gazing out at the still-barren surface of Telos as early morning freighters whizzed by. The sun had not yet broken on the horizon, nor was dawn yet at hand, so he still had some time to finish up his wedding preparations. With the big day only a standard twenty-four hours away, there was much to do.

Carth fixed the blinds so that the convex side faced the room. He returned to bed and slipped beneath the covers with slow, sleep-deprived movements. The dream—or nightmare, more aptly put—had sapped his energy, and though he wasn't relishing the thought of getting back to bed, sleep was just what he needed before the intense day Tren had planned for him. Tren had promised him the best bachelor party credits could buy and a "day out with the boys"—whatever that entailed. Carth wasn't eager to find out, but he was almost equally as desperate to gain the approval of Rani's brother. Perhaps a little time out together would help them to put the past behind them and begin anew.

Carth shifted over on his side and sunk into the soft warmth of the bed, cuddling his body up to Rani's. She was so warm and it felt so good to hold her. The dream had seemed so real that part of him dreaded ever letting go of her again—if only to reassure himself she was forever safe in his care. Obviously that wasn't feasible, so he remained content with just holding her close now, at this moment.

Slowly, Rani's steady, shallow breaths lulled him to sleep. He hadn't realized how irresistible it was until the world around him grew blurry and then disappeared entirely.


	2. The Journey to Capital City

Tyro Sorath paced along the meditative walkway, a single cavernous hallway surrounding the base of the Jedi Temple that was decorated with an arcade of stained-glass windows and statues relating the events of wars long past. As he stopped before the individual podiums bearing statues of famed Jedi masters, the pupils of his perceptive cerulean eyes expanded and contracted ever so slightly as an enormous burst of light glowed in through the windows. He watched the single stream of inbound air traffic diverge into several separate streams the nearer they grew to the city center. The Zeltron's low, almost inaudible grumble would have fallen on deaf ears had the comparatively diminutive Master Vrook not been standing behind him, Zhar Lestin at his side.

"Master Sorath," Vrook said, making his presence known. The crimson-skinned Jedi turned at the sound of his name being called and made a curt but respectful bow to both of them. "Masters Vrook, Zhar, I am indeed glad you could come."

"Walk with us," Vrook commanded.

The three of them fell into step together—Vrook a hair's breadth behind—as they walked down the corridor, unaware of the way the waning sun's glow cloaked their bodies in a marvelous light. As they walked, they clasped their hands before them piously, and though no bystanders would have guessed as to the nature of their conversation, none would doubt—from the telling expressions on each of their faces—that it was of the utmost importance.

"Your message seemed most urgent," Zhar Lestin began. The pink-skinned male Twi'lek wore his protruding lekku wrapped regally around his shoulders, and he was cloaked in an azure robe that was cinched at the waist with a drawstring belt. In their earlier dealings, Tyro had often found Zhar quite difficult to read, which was no great surprise given that most of the Twi'leks' communication and cognitive functions began and ended at the _tchun-tchin_. Vrook, on the other hand, was much more accessible emotionally and intellectually, and for that reason it was easier to soak up what he was thinking and feeling like a sponge. Sorath guessed that was why Zhar had seemed to take the lead today, and Vrook fell into step behind him, deferring to the other man.

"What I have to say is of the utmost importance, Masters," Sorath insisted.

"By the Force, Tyro… are you unwell? You look ill."

"I'm afraid so. Last night I was gifted a vision by the Force, and though much of its meaning eludes me, one thing is certain: it was a warning. In my dream, I saw two men. One was plain, rather unremarkable, but the other one—the _hooded_one—was in pursuit of him. As the dream progressed, he followed him through the Enclave and reached into his mind. It was as though I was watching it unfold, yet somehow I was that man. I saw as he did, and I felt as he extracted segments of my mind—forcibly and painfully—from me. My empathic abilities were not sufficient enough to stop him. By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late to do anything."

Both Vrook and Zhar exchanged twin glances of apprehension, but Tyro continued, undaunted.

"There's more. In my waking hours, I saw a massive battle, and an armada of starships descending on Coruscant. I saw the future; a galaxy with no Jedi, a galaxy with no compassion, a galaxy with no connection to anything remotely good. I fear this is a foretelling of things to come."

Zhar cast his eyes ahead as he spoke, sounding very weary.

"This _hooded man_whom you speak of—did he have a name and identity? Did you get a glimpse of his face?"

"I saw nothing remarkable that would allow me to identify him. But I know this much: the Sith are amassing a great fleet. We must take action, and quickly, if we are to defend against an attack."

"And throw the rest of the galaxy into an unnecessary panic?" Vrook interrupted. "I've heard enough! This is preposterous."

"Master Sorath's dream is perfectly admissible in a session of Council."

"Are we allowing dreams into evidence now?" Vrook snorted.

"We may have a situation on our hands here, Master." His words were punctuated by a lengthy silence.

"Like I said, I've heard _enough_. Masters."

With a brief bow to indicate he'd done speaking, Vrook brushed past the remaining two Jedi, bustling down the hall before disappearing into one of the temple's map rooms. As the two aliens remained there, halted in their tracks, Zhar turned to look at Tyro.

"Prepare your statement for our next session. We will have an audience tomorrow and speak of it then. The other masters must be made to know of this."

"Yes," Tyro replied with a robotic bow. "These are dark days."

"I hope, for all our sakes, that you are mistaken."

* * *

><p>Igrayne had spent half the day in hard training with her fellow Jedi and the other half enjoying the company of her new friend, Rika Skye, whenever Carina was not present. From their many conversations, Igrayne had gathered the two women were much alike: Rika had come from a well-to-do family in Iziz on the planet of Onderon but had been forced to take flight as soon as the worst of the Sith bombing struck the world. And though her path toward becoming a Jedi had begun at a much younger age, they were still at relatively the same level, which made practicing much easier.<p>

As Rika showed up later that day, palming the lock to Igrayne's cell, the ebon-haired Jedi admitted her with some excitement.

"Ready for dinner?" Igrayne queried.

"Actually no, I came to tell you I'm going to be late to dinner. Master Sorath sent for me," Rika announced with unease. The clear-complexioned woman wore her impeccably groomed brandy brown hair in side plaits that hung over her shoulders. Her golden-caramel skin had often reminded Igrayne of Rani, and perhaps it was because of this remarkable physical similarity that the woman had been drawn to her.

"What for?"

"He didn't say. He just said I should come to the council chamber at once."

"That's all the way across the other side of the temple! It had better be important."

"It seemed like it was, as far as I could tell."

"Go along then; I'll catch up with you later at the mess hall."

After Igrayne's departure, Rika gathered a few personal effects from her own room before shrugging into her robes, exiting her apartment, and locking it. She negotiated the stairs that led to the main hallway and followed the passages from there on toward the council chamber. As expected, Master Sorath was standing there when she arrived, already awaiting her. She came to an immediate stop when a tendril of the Force reached out to choke her mind; she could feel Sorath's consternation despite his best efforts to conceal it, and she took a steadying breath to clear her mind of the heavy murkiness.

"Master, you were expecting me."

Tyro made a gesture to indicate they should begin walking toward the council chamber. Jedi were not seen to stand around in dark corridors after certain hours, and neither of them wanted to arouse suspicion. So, matching strides, they began pacing beside another long panel of transparisteel windows that overlooked the extraordinary metropolis of Capital City. Making a right, they both entered the council chamber, located at the peak of the temple's tower, where only two of the other councilors arrayed before her—Raana Tey and Dorak. The masters welcomed her in and bid her sit, which Rika did without hesitation.

"Rika Skye, we have a task for you," Raana Tey began. The beautiful Togruta female had rusty orange skin accented by white and black markings all along her lekku, and grayish lips that protruded slightly from the soft curves of her face. Rika recalled Igrayne throwing out a various number of curses in reference to the Jedi master, who seemed to harbor a particular hatred for her ever since her demotion. Igrayne had often said it was because she had been given a so-called "free pass," and Raana was determined to see her expelled. "I know that in recent months you have become close to Padawan Igrayne. We have recently decided to give Padawans Igrayne and Carina leave to shortly depart for the wedding of Admiral Onasi and his fiancée. That is where we must enlist your help."

"I don't understand," the woman said, wondering what possible relevance the wedding could have in the scheme of things. "What does this have to do with me?"

"Surely you are aware of the situation."

"Yes, they have been discussing nothing else. Truly, it is exhausting to listen to the both of them."

"You must accompany them to Telos, where the wedding is to take place. Observe their activities and those of their companions and ensure that they return to the temple once the celebrations are complete. You will report back to us once you have returned."

Feeling slightly uneasy, Rika said, "What will happen to them then?"

"If you observe them breaking any part of the code, you are to bring them back to Coruscant immediately. There they will face permanent expulsion from the Order."

_Just what you wanted, isn't it?_the girl thought, though she replied out loud, "I understand."

"You are dismissed," Raana Tey, and immediately Rika hopped down the steps of the council, waiting for Tyro to reappear shortly thereafter. Once the red-skinned Jedi was in her field of vision, she intercepted with a loud hiss to get his attention. His head shot over his shoulder in her direction, and he paused to wait for her to catch up with him. As she jogged over to him, her eyes narrowed.

"Master Sorath, forgive my asking but… do you approve of this?"

"It was out of my hands, Rika. Although I must admit, I do feel better in knowing you will accompany my Padawan on her journey. I can't be certain of Carina's intentions, though thus far I have observed no deception or treachery from her. Please do look after them and see that they safely return. And be vigilant. I have a feeling that an unseen trouble may be brewing."

"Yes, Master, of course."

"Thank you. Run along now."

Tyro watched her depart, feeling a tug at his heart strings. He had the sneaking suspicion that was the last time he would ever see Rika again, whatever that meant. And though the dream still gripped at the edges of his mind, he was reluctant to confine Igrayne for much longer to the temple. He had long sensed her desire to be sent out on a mission, and this would afford her the time she needed to collect her thoughts and return to the Jedi with a renewed sense of purpose. He just hoped he was doing the right thing in letting her go. Only time would tell.

* * *

><p>Rika entered the cluttered mess hall and immediately located Igrayne and Carina, who were sharing a meal and some intense conversation at a table beside the kitchen. Though they looked deeply entrenched in a debate of sorts, Rika was eager to share the good news with them at once. As she plopped down into the seat across from them, her bottom making contact with the durasteel resoundingly, Igrayne peeled her eyes away from Carina's face long enough to greet her.<p>

"You finally made it!"

"Yeah, I got detained for a little while. I was telling Igrayne that Master Sorath needed to see me."

"What for?" the emerald-eyed woman queried.

"Looks like you two are going on an all-expenses paid vacation to Telos."

"Are you serious? You mean Master Sorath is letting us go to the wedding?" Igrayne chattered excitedly.

"Yep, and what's more, he's letting me come with you."

"What, like a chaperone?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it that…"

"Three months and he still doesn't trust me," Igrayne complained, throwing down a soggy piece of bread on her plate.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much. He's letting you leave, Igrayne. That should be reason enough to celebrate."

"I suppose you're right." After a moment of thought, Igrayne said, "I can't wait to begin packing! It seems like forever since I've seen Rani and Evy. It will be nice to spend some time away from the temple."

"I know how you feel. Sometimes I hate how sheltered things are here. When you're here, you feel like this is the only place in the entire galaxy."

"I know."

Sensing that somehow the conversation excluded her, Rika excused herself, grabbing two pieces of bread on the way out of the mess before walking back to her apartment. Only one thought passed through her mind as she trotted through the halls, her hands shaking as she broke the bread into little pieces and popped them into her mouth: _I hope to the Force that what I'm doing is right…_

* * *

><p>"Come on, it's just a few steps further!"<p>

Trentyn Taraster's clammy hands remained folded over Carth's eyes as the younger man verbally directed him through a labyrinth of corridors in Citadel Station. Tren had talked him onto a transport that led to the entertainment module, and though Carth had been virtually blindfolded the entire time, he had made it known he was aware of just where they were going. Despite his best efforts to keep the bachelor party a surprise, Trentyn had repeatedly shushed him with the promise that Carth had no idea what he was talking about. So when Trentyn's hands slid from his eyes to reveal a modest gathering of about fifteen men—among them Atton, Mical, Han, and Dustil—the admiral was unsurprised. They all raised raucous cheers at the admiral's entrance, and Carth flashed a look at Trentyn while releasing a sigh for dramatic effect.

"I thought I told you nothing extravagant—and nothing that might get me in trouble with Rani."

"_Relax_, Republic," Tren purred. "You're with me… how much trouble can you possibly get into?"

"Famous last words," Carth remarked.

"Wait until you see what we've got planned for you."

With a nurturing arm, Tren led Carth around the grody, ill-lit cantina. As a band of Bith assumed their usual position in the overcrowded alcoves of the joint to play jizz-wailer music, to which many of the remaining guests were dancing, Carth noticed the scantily-clad Twi'lek dancing girls moving sinuously on center stage, their clothing leaving barely anything to the imagination.

"Dude, come on up here," Atton beckoned, a Juma lodged in his palm. "The Twi'lek strippers just got here and the party's finally starting!"

"I don't know about any strippers…" Carth said hesitantly.

"Don't be a stick in the mud," Atton shot back.

"Even _I_ can appreciate their _assets_, Father," Dustil said with a snide smirk, walking toward the bar to lean against it and enjoy the sights.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have one drink," Carth said with hesitance.

"Get this man a Corellian brandy on the rocks!" Tren said, snapping his fingers. All at once, the bar man served him up a mug of some fizzing, vomit-inducing liquid. As Carth heartily indulged, drinking it all down in one gulp, he won a round of cheers from his companions, who were well on their way to being drunk.

"Here's a cred chip; go get yourself a lap dance," Tren said, pushing one into his hand.

"I, uh… No thanks, I'm good."

"Come on!"

Atton's hands were on his shoulders before he could again protest, and soon Carth found his bottom firmly planted on a metal seat, his eyes staring up at the generous bosom of a buxom young yellow Twi'lek. Her beautiful, practiced movements were pleasing to behold, and despite himself, Carth found it difficult to take his eyes off her. Slowly, the semi-nude Twi'lek slunk down to the ground, landing at his feet below the stage. As she crawled up between his thighs, spreading them apart with her elbows, a seductive smirk was on her lips. Carth, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, tugged at his orange flight jacket and looked around for help.

"I…"

Before he could protest, the Twi'lek's erotic movements halted and her weight shifted onto his, writhing up against him sensually in imitation of far more pleasurable pursuits. Swallowing the breath he had been holding, Carth struggled hard to ignore the good-natured jeering and caterwauling of his friends, who seemed determined to make an ass of him.

The Twi'lek finished her dance—and not a moment too soon. After insisting Carth place the cred chip in the side of her shimmery silver g-string, the admiral did so abashedly, his face turning bright red. Atton and Tren broke out into a resounding chorus of laughter while Mical did his best not to look, wandering toward the bar to start up a conversation with the bar man. Unbuttoning his collar slowly to ward off the stifling heat, Carth stood up and ventured toward the bar for another drink.

"Having fun, Admiral?" Mical said semi-disapprovingly as the admiral drew level with him.

"Lots."

"Yes, it would appear so."

"Dad having fun? Not in a million light years," Dustil caustically threw in, gazing over his mug at his father. The shadow of a full beard covered his face, much thicker than he had worn it in the past, and his thumb traced the contours of the cup contemplatively.

"I, for one, think it is disgusting how they objectify the women," Mical insisted.

"Oh, get off your high horse, Blondie. We're just having some good, clean fun," an animated voice spoke from behind him. Tren shouldered Mical aside, slipping into one of the seats beside Carth. After beckoning the admiral to do the same, Carth acquiesced. It felt good to just relax with a stiff drink in hand.

"How are you liking the party?"

Mindful of his manners, Carth said, "You did a great job planning all this, Tren. I don't quite know what to say…"

"Don't say a word. I can tell just from your expression that you are secretly _loving_ every minute of this!"

"You know me too well."

"Well, while we're in a _sharing _mood, tell me, Republic: are your intentions honorable? As the best man, and the brother of the bride, I think I deserve the right to know."

"My intentions?"

"Toward Rani. _My sister_. You haven't forgotten about her already, have you? Although from the way that little vixen is eyeing you, who could blame you?" Tren slurred, one arm wrapped about Carth's neck as he glanced over toward the yellow Twi'lek, who was busily stripping on stage.

"I have only the best intentions, Tren. You know how much I love your sister, and I hope to the Force I'll have the opportunity to show her that every day for the rest of her life."

Tren's brows knotted together comically over his bleary eyes.

"Don't get all sentimental on me, Republic. The big day's not even here yet."

"Right, sorry. You asked, I answered. There it is."

"I see. Of course you know I'm not thrilled about the idea of you two together."

"You've made it abundantly clear on more than one occasion…"

"She's young and beautiful. Why she's chosen a widower with a grown-up son when she could have any man in the galaxy is beyond me. Chicks don't usually dig a guy with baggage."

Dustil's eyes flashed dangerously in his former weapons master's direction, though he continued quietly sipping his drink instead of interrupting.

"But, you know, the heart wants what it wants. Or something."

"I appreciate the honesty, Tren."

Tren's arm gave him another jolt around his neck as he hugged him closer.

"You just better treat my sister right!" he warned, though in his current drunken state he couldn't have done anything particularly intimidating to frighten Carth.

"I will. I swear it."

"Well, then I say it's time to let bygones be bygones. You have my permission. One hundred percent."

"Thank you?"

"Say no more. Just drink up… and keep 'em coming!" he said, leaning over his shoulder to bark at the bar man.

Swiftly, Carth's mug was filled to the brim with another foreign spirit. As he sipped at the drink, his eyes took in the scene: his friends, piss-drunk, sitting about in chairs in front of the stage, while the Twi'lek girls kept on discarding items of clothing to the strains of the music, and an ostentatious orange banner hanging in the back that read "Carth's Last Night of Freedom."

Sighing, Carth shook his head.

_What did I get myself into?_

* * *

><p>Delving through her closet full of modest Jedi robes, Igrayne selected a few less conservative pieces and placed them in the open suitcase at the foot of the bed. She unpacked and re-packed the suitcase twice more before she was satisfied with its contents. Shutting the suitcase with a snap, she ran her hands over the glossy metallic surface, her distorted reflection gazing back at her. A zippered closure and snappy shoulder strap added the finishing touches on the otherwise plain bag. As she hooked the strap over her head, ambling with the heavy load toward the door, she palmed the lock, the faint hiss of electronic doors assaulting her ears, and was immediately greeted by a luggage-laden Carina on the other side. Clad in a flattering emerald green outfit that disguised her true Jedi status, she grasped an appropriately compact silver bag in her right hand. A pair of black all-purpose shoes with leather shin guards that laced up from behind covered her feet and half of her calves. Even her normally mussed brown hair had been gathered into a tight ponytail that grazed her shoulders.<p>

"You ready to go?"

"Yeah."

Her hand fell to her utility belt and grasped only air where her lightsaber should have been.

"Wait! There's just one thing I have to get."

"Igrayne, I don't think you can fit anything else in that bag…"

"Very funny. Will you hold on?"

"Of course."

Making a mental note of where she had last left her lightsaber, Igrayne retraced her steps to the massive armoire that all but dominated the left-hand side of her accommodations. She flicked it open with a single switch and grasped the lightsaber hilt, her hands smoothing over the metal in remembrance of her recent trial. She had resigned Bao-Dur's lightsaber to Vrook with almost no resistance, and though she had cradled it close in much the same way before giving it up, her mind was torn over having done so. Her hands gave the lightsaber an affectionate squeeze before hooking it on to her belt, returning to the door, and locking up.

The quick trek through the tall, marbled hallways of the temple's ground floor was uneventful. Soon, they had arrived at the temple entrance, which welcomed a steady influx of traffic in the form of Padawans rushing off to their lessons and Masters and some of the Knights flitting by headed toward lengthy meetings. In the center of the interchange stood Rika, her still silhouette contrasting greatly against that of the mobile passersby. As Igrayne and Carina approached, the young woman's features came into view, and they saw she had braided her hair over one shoulder, fixing it at the ends with a simple blue ribbon, and she wore a set of tightly-fitting robes that were more suited to the practice ring than a space journey. Regardless, the two women greeted her with some warmth.

"Are you two ready for Telos?" Rika said cordially.

"_Are we?_" Carina balked. "We've only been thinking about it for the past three months!"

"Well, let's get a move on, then! We've got a lot of ground to cover, and only a limited amount of time."

"Have you arranged for a transport?" Igrayne asked.

"Yes, Master Sorath called for one last night. They should meet us in a small alley just off Processional Way. He also booked us our flight off world."

"Great. Let's go."

The three of them set off, matching strides, out the main hall and past the hulking statues of the Four Masters that crowned the sides of the magnificent outside staircase. As they ambled down the stairs at an unhurried pace, Igrayne's mind was filled with a mixture of excitement and sadness. She longed to see Rani, Evy, and the others again, but her heart was heavy with the knowledge that Bao-Dur would not be there to share in the excitement and romance of the day with her. When last she had seen her friends, it was shortly after his passing, so a tense knot began to form in her stomach; perhaps just being in their presence would again bring to the surface all the emotions, anxieties, and turmoil she had worked so hard to suppress over the last few months. Being on Coruscant had helped remove her from the reality of her situation, and that was especially true of her residence in the temple. It had afforded her a certain level of privacy, and as such, she'd not had to grapple with the difficulty of her loss. But seeing her friends' smiling faces again was almost sure to change that fact, and now, knotting together her hands as she walked, she was hesitant to think this was such a good idea after all.

"What color do you suppose the dresses Rani picked out for us are?" Carina posited.

Igrayne rolled her shoulders in a lazy shrug.

"Don't know."

Carina's eyes narrowed intuitively.

"What's wrong? You don't seem excited."

"It's just…"

Carina immediately pitched her voice low so their conversation was lost on the nearby Rika.

"Is it Bao-Dur?"

Igrayne bit her lower lip and nodded slowly.

"What gave it away?"

"I'm no psychic, but I could see something was troubling you because… well, you know you do this thing with your eyebrows when you're upset? They kind of go all funky and you look utterly and hopelessly glum."

"Sorry to be such a mood-killer. It's just that if the Council had their way, I would be constantly displaying my regret and remorse over ever having disobeyed a direct mandate and fallen in love with Bao-Dur in the first place. But I can't. My heart is with him always. And I fear this excursion—and being on Telos—will only remind me of him. The memories haunt me every day…"

Tears began to fill her eyes, unbidden, though she choked them back with admirable restraint. Carina noticed the incredible difficulty with which Igrayne kept it together.

"Igrayne, believe me, I understand. And if I was in your position, I'd feel the exact same way. Myself, I'm not relishing the idea of seeing Mical again. But I know Rani's happiness hinges on our attending. Listen, if you ever need to talk…"

"I know." She turned and looked at Carina, catching up her hand in an affectionate squeeze. "You've always been such a wonderful friend to me."

Carina returned her smile with one of her own, and then loosened her hand from Igrayne's grasp.

"What are you girls chatting about so seriously over here?" Rika asked, her voice breaking through their thoughts.

"Oh, nothing," Carina responded. "Just the economics of public choice in a Republic-run society."

"Wow, sounds… _stimulating_."

One facial expression from Rika suggested she thought otherwise.

"Nice," Igrayne shot at her friend.

"I thought so," Carina replied.

Within minutes, they had reached the bottom of the stairs. Soon they were venturing down obscure side streets, where businesses of questionable repute and other squalid-looking buildings resided. Igrayne pulled a little closer to the other women as they walked past the stares of a thousand eyes all peeled in their direction.

"Are you sure we're headed in the right direction?" she asked Rika.

"Positive. It's just a little ways up."

The Coruscanti parted like magic for them, sensing their determination as they went on their way. Passing through the seedy underbelly, the three young women arrived at the meeting location outside of one of the open-air markets and bazaars. Nearby, to the left, was the entertainment district, and one of the city's most famous nightclubs. Above the entrance way was a tall neon silhouette of a Twi-lek flashing in blinding purple. It continued blinking, casting a colorful aura over all three women as they waited, impatiently, for the transport to arrive. Igrayne soon fell to pacing to dispel some of her nervous energy, and Carina did the same.

"Look, there it is now!" Rika announced, her finger pointing in the direction of the oncoming transport.

"Oh, thank the Force!" Carina responded.

As the vessel approached, slowing to a crawl, the three women hugged their luggage close and boarded expediently.

Igrayne walked onboard the transport first, stowing her luggage in an overhead compartment before selecting a seat nearest the window. As she sat down, smoothing out her dark chocolate traveling robes, her pale face turned involuntarily toward the dim sun that was barely peeking over Coruscant's towering skyscrapers and high-rise buildings, their sheen illuminating the ancient splendor of the nearby Jedi Temple. Up and down the temple steps walked many Jedi, a sea of brown against an otherwise bland and unremarkable canvas. Beside her, she heard a pained grunt as Carina struggled with her slightly smaller silver suitcase. Rika's hands reached up from behind to help shift the bag into place. It slid against a large black trunk with a resounding crack, but on further inspection, no harm appeared to have been done.

"Thanks," Carina said agitatedly, fashioning a curt nod in response as she plopped down into the seat beside Igrayne. The transport seated two to a row, so Carina elicited a sigh of relief when Rika sat down across from them, giving them enough privacy to converse throughout the brief journey to the landing bay.

"Do you think she's gonna hover this close the whole time? I don't feel like I can say anything in confidence to you with ol' Big Ears over there listening in."

Igrayne's lips twitched involuntarily into a smile as she gazed over at Carina. The few untucked strands of hair that floated over her face and the purple hollows beneath her eyes informed her that her friend was, in fact, a bundle of nerves. Carina was normally no stranger to space travel, so Igrayne chalked it up to Rika's continued presence. Carina had made no secret of her apparent dislike of Rika. She had often cited the other woman's knack for turning up when her presence was least expected—or desired—as a point of irritation. Carina was very exclusive in her friendships, Igrayne had gathered that much, and though it was nothing personal, Rika often ended up staring at the business end of a cold shoulder.

"Cut her some slack. She's only doing what Master Soreth told her to do."

"Yeah, I guess. It's just going to be weird being stalked the whole time we're there. How will we get to do anything with Rani and Evy _alone_ when we're perpetually attached at the hip?"

"Think of it this way: it's a chance for us to expand our circle of friends."

"Speak for yourself."

"Next stop: _Capital City Spaceport_," a forward-seated pudgy blue alien with an elephantine snout announced as he activated the lever to pull the doors shut with a cool hiss. The transport began to accelerate out of the terminal and move swiftly toward its destination.

Carina's arms folded mechanically over her chest as she stared straight ahead at the vomit-green seat back, upon which an impressively tentacled head was resting. Igrayne took it as her cue to say no more, so she instead focused on the blur of sights whizzing by the transport windows outside. It had been several long months since she had left the temple—even longer still since she'd ventured off world—and she was overdue for a break.

With furious intensity, Carina suddenly sputtered, "I just don't get it. Why send a chaperone at all? Does he really think Rika can stop us from doing what we want to do once on Telos?"

Igrayne released an exasperated sigh, equally irritated. "No, but she can see to it that we're never admitted back into the Jedi Temple again… at least not as members of the Jedi Order."

"She's not one of us, you know? It would have made more sense for even Master Sorath to come before her!"

"Master Sorath has far too many things to take care of and is far too busy to concern himself with a simple wedding, I can assure you."

"You've got that right. Have you noticed him seeming a mite too tense lately?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, I don't know. He just walks around with this perpetual brooding expression all the time."

Igrayne stifled a laugh.

"He's a Zeltron. That's what Zeltrons do."

"Oh, okay…"

The two young women lapsed into silence as they drew nearer their destination. As the transport came to a screeching stop before Capital City Spaceport, a thriving facility that operated twenty-four hours a day, Igrayne and Carina peered out of the transparisteel viewpanels with wonder at the large, freestanding structure. Outfitted with a two-tier platform that allowed for a variety of vessels to land, the spaceport's hangars were situated beneath the main open-air concourse, where various privately-owned starfighters, freighters, and larger commercial spacecraft descended swiftly into the arena.

Rika attempted to attract the driver's attention by waving a ticket stub in the air to remind him to stop. With a fed-up grunt, the alien reached out one of its four arms and activated the lever that would bring the transport to a grinding halt. As they coasted to a stop before the busy facility, engines squealing violently in protest, Igrayne stood up and grabbed her luggage, hopping down onto the outside curb. Carina quickly followed, and Rika was left to pay the driver. As she slipped him a few cred chips and joined the others on the curb, Igrayne checked her wrist chrono.

"What time did you say our flight was at?"

"It's in less than one standard hour," Rika responded.

"Let's go get ourselves situated then."

"Sounds good… I'm starving. Maybe we can scrounge up some breakfast along the way?" Carina suggested.

"Sure."

Making their way through the security checkpoints with little difficulty—apart from an almost unpleasant encounter with a security agent who demanded Igrayne remove her utility belt for searching—the three women located a panel of upholstered crimson seats facing the forward viewport. As the three of them sat down and watched the ships descending into and arising out of the arena, Carina elected to go find them food. Returning minutes later with her arms full of a delicious-looking assortment of pastries and other confections, Carina plopped down between them and began divvying out the food.

"How much did it cost you?" Rika queried.

"Not that much. I got a real deal down at that shop on the corner."

"Just be careful; Master Sorath's only given us a small allowance. We don't want to go spending the majority of it before we reach Telos."

"We have to eat, don't we?" Carina said with irritation, her emerald eyes gazing coolly at the other woman as she nibbled on small pieces of whitish bread.

"Yes, I suppose we do."

The women ate in companionable silence before an announcement came over the loud speaker for the crew to prepare the flight for boarding. As several of the flight personnel attended to their vessel—a decommissioned Republic Quartermaster-class supply carrier—the girls gathered their bags to prepare to board. Igrayne surveyed their ship with interest; its reinforced duranium hull was erected in such a manner as to allow the vessel to withstand punishing damage without breaching and spilling its cargo into space. If durability was what Sorath had been going for in booking them this flight off planet, then he had certainly succeeded. Igrayne felt much safer knowing he hadn't shuttled them away in just any old ship.

The three women boarded swiftly and were seated after stowing their luggage in the on-board compartment toward the bow of the ship. As they took their seats, this time Igrayne wiggling into the middle, they each released a collective sigh of relief.

"I'll be thankful when we've landed safely in Telos," Rika began.

"Won't be long now," Carina remarked, her eyes fixed on the sights outside of the window. "I _can't wait_ to see Rani and Evy!"

Igrayne suppressed a smile.

"Me too."


	3. Festivities

Situated in an isolated stretch of Telos' wild and unkempt terrain, Anglebay Station perched very unassumingly beside a picturesque waterfall and creek. To the casual observer, the medical facility left a lot to be desired: ramshackle panels of durasteel had lodged free of the façade, and hair-line spider cracks in the less than sturdy transparisteel windows bore testament to the fact that the station had seen better days. Shortly after the bombing of the planet, most if not all of the official buildings had been ransacked by vagrants and scavengers—and this facility was certainly no exception.

Inside the building, Head Nurse Evy Le Sange moved from station to station, observing patients' vitals for any change in condition. As she absently made several notations on the datapad pressed close to her breast, her mind was elsewhere. Rani's wedding was only a day away, and she would be getting off her shift early to ride with her to the spaceport, where Igrayne, Carina, and another of their Jedi companions would be arriving shortly. Her excitement was foremost in her mind, but Evy tried not to let it distract her as she went about her work.

Nearby, a droid orderly was tending to a patient with third degree burns, a young russet-haired boy of about nine or ten. As Evy neared the cot upon which he dozed peacefully, she stopped writing. His face was completely chafed red and raw, and his condition appeared not to have improved as of yet.

"8-9A, have you prepared those skin grafts yet?"

"Yes, Nurse Le Sange. Dr. Disciple performed the surgery last night at 1800 hours, while Nurse Klasson was on duty—shortly before you arrived for your shift. The doctor was concerned the patient would have difficulty accepting the skin, so he instructed me to monitor him overnight."

"And?"

"The patient has not yet exhibited any physical signs of scarring, so the surgery appears to have been a success. But the doctor was concerned that he was not healing as quickly as he should have, and from my observations, the doctor appears to have been right."

Evy felt a knot of remorse form in her throat as she gazed down at the marred visage of the young boy and tried to imagine him going through life with an unusual mark on his face. She could almost hear the juvenile jeers in her ears as she visualized the young boy attempting to brave the ever-evolving complexities of adolescent life. As the boy was roused to consciousness, fluttering his eyes open, Evy noticed that his organic eye had been retrofitted with a cybernetic part—the old one having obviously been too damaged beyond repair to be properly salvaged. Though both of his irises were almost the exact same shade of azure, the deeper and slightly glassier texture of the other one was the only way Evy could pinpoint its syntheticity.

The boy's head turned mechanically toward her as he sat up and croaked, "Where am I?"

Evy's hand gently flew out to his head as she coaxed him to lie back against the pillow.

"You're safe. Hush now, and sleep. You need your rest."

As though in answer to her gentle urging, the boy's eyes fluttered closed and soon his breathing took on the steady cadence of sleep. She watched as up and down his chest went, adjusting to a more natural rhythm.

Quietly, her hand pressed against his ribcage. As her fingers kneaded the taut muscles knotted there, she channeled all of her anxiety for the boy into her deeply conflicted thoughts. As thoughts involuntarily became actions, she felt a current of energy beginning to flow through her soft fingertips and into the still body beneath her. Evy's shapely lips opened in surprise as she felt the energy fill the boy and set to work immediately repairing his damaged and frail little body. Evy took a step back, frightened, as she watched the boy's skin slowly begin to mend itself, the color growing more fleshy and neutral with each passing moment. Knowing that she had somehow accelerated his recovery, Evy sent a gaze around at the nearby orderlies. None seemed to have noticed her miraculous healing or the mysterious manner in which it had occurred.

"By the Force…" she whispered.

Before she had time to further contemplate what had just happened, she heard 8-9A wheeling her way.

"You are relieved of your duty for the night, Nurse Le Sange. Allow me to monitor the boy."

"Yes, of course. I think he'll be just fine," she said with an enigmatic smile.

Walking slowly toward the medical facility's change room, she exchanged her scrubs for a pretty dress and shoes, brushing her stubborn golden hair out over the sink in the nearby 'fresher. With each stroke, her hands shook slightly as she recalled what had just happened.

She had always had an innate talent for healing other beings. Mical had often called it a "gift" given her by the Force. In the past, she had even healed Atton and his best friend, Tren, but both circumstances had been in the face of imminent danger or trauma. Today, it had been different; it seemed almost as though a single thought alone was enough to harness her "gift" for healing and put it to work. The thought that her gift might be so reckless and arbitrary was what scared Evy the most; at any time, she could unleash a power that was well beyond her control. And what if it was too much for her to bear—what then? Would her patients suffer the consequences? Would she only end up hurting those she swore to care for?

Washing her hands in the sink, Evy threw her possessions into a small bag and ran to the front of the facility to check out. Rani was there waiting for her when she arrived, her shoulders and collarbone bare save for a small crimson necklace Carth had gifted her, dressed from head to toe in a green tube top and matching armguards with buff-colored trousers. Though sporty, it still bore a touch of femininity that was undeniably Rani. The two women embraced.

"You're here! I thought the time would never come!" Evy said, utterly enthused, her paranoia forgotten for the moment.

"Are you ready to go pick up the girls?"

"You betcha!"

After waiting a minute more for Nurse Klasson to arrive and take over her shift, Evy and Rani stepped outside and hopped into a sleek silver landspeeder. Outfitted with a custom aluminum chassis, fiberglass body, and an electric drive system that boasted speeds upwards of 250 kilometers per hour, the latest top of the line model of landspeeder was both durable _and _stylish.

"Wow…"

"Just one of the many perks of being the admiral's fiancée," Rani explained teasingly. "It's a beauty, isn't it?"

"I never pegged Carth as the mid-life crisis sort of guy," Evy admitted.

"Hah! It was a joint decision. We thought we needed something a little more practical with all the travel we've been doing, and really, you get what you pay for."

"It's beautiful."

"It's about 10,500 credits worth of beautiful," Rani corrected her.

"Yikes!"

"I know. At first I was against it, but after seeing it in the shipyard, I mean, what's not to love?"

"Yeah, really."

The two women sped away in the landspeeder. Rani deftly maneuvered the controls as the vehicle streaked beyond a mountain and into a valley full of brush and dirt. Before long, the speeder pulled into the busy Citadel Station Spaceport, where a shipload of people were disembarking. As the two women hopped out of the speeder, noticing the brightly-dressed travelers on the platform above, Rani waved her arms.

"Hey!"

The three Jedi noticed and waved back. Within minutes, Rani and Evy had cleared the distance between them and were atop the platform, running toward the three new arrivals. They embraced warmly, laughing, hugging, and smiling all at the same time as Rani went from one to the other, welcoming them all back to Telos with a quick kiss on the cheek. She smiled as she held hands with the two women and squeezed them tightly. With a nod in Rika's direction, she said, "Hi, I'm Rani. Nice to meet you."

"Rika," the other woman replied with a nod. "Thank you for letting me attend your wedding, and congratulations."

"Thank you so much," Rani said, beaming, her smile lighting up her entire face as she looked at all of her friends surrounding her. Overcome by emotion, tears welled up in Rani's eyes and she used the back of her hand to dab at them. Evy's hand snuck around her shoulders.

"Aww, Rani, don't cry!"

"I'm sorry. I'm just so happy everybody's here!"

"Where's the man of the hour?" Igrayne queried.

"Out with the boys."

"Uh-oh… you know what that means," Carina said, fixing Igrayne with a glance as the two giggled.

"Yes, booze, strippers, lecherous male fun… everything I warned him not to do. Tren told me all about it beforehand, so at least I'm prepared mentally."

"Forget about them; we're going to go out and have some fun of our own!" Carina said. "It'll be a girls' day!"

"I could do with one," Rani agreed, sniffling as she cleared the remnants of tears from her eyes. "Why don't you guys drop off your bags at my apartment and then we can go pick up your dresses? I know you gave me your measurements, but I just want to make sure the dresses actually fit before tomorrow."

"Sounds like a plan!" Carina said.

As the five of them ambled along, Igrayne and Evy talked, Rika following silently behind them, while Rani and Carina fell into step. Rani's enigmatic smile broadened as she surveyed her friend, and Carina felt the weight of her stare.

"What?"

"I'm just so happy you're here."

Rani gave her hand another affectionate squeeze, and Carina returned the gesture.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Rani said nothing, only smiled.

Soon, they arrived back at Rani's apartment, depositing their luggage in the center room before venturing out through the winding passageways of Citadel Station once again. Rani conveyed them down past the cantina and toward the central markets, where several of the shops and the commerce district resided.

"We could pay Carth and company a visit while we're down here," Evy joked, her green eyes alight with mischief.

"Nooooo!" Rani screamed. "I don't need to see that! Just the thought of it is scarring."

"Well then we're going to have to get some strippers of our own," Carina suggested.

Rika fixed her with an icy Jedi glare.

"I'm _shocked_you would even suggest such a thing."

"It's okay; I'm not into that anyway," Rani interrupted. "There's only one man I want to see naked right now, and unfortunately, he's preoccupied at the moment."

"Drat!"

They rounded the corner into the commercial section of the station. As Citadel Station had gradually grown to include many myriad species of aliens from all over the galaxy, many merchants began to set up shop in the various modules of the station as it took shape. In particular, two Duros merchant brothers had set up competitive trading businesses that dominated the main market sector. As the girls floated by their shops giggling, the two tall-browed blue little aliens with the large coral eyes surveyed them in passing. Rani squeezed through the nearby alley and set off in a catty-corner direction past several seedy establishments. In the distance, a dimly glowing shop stood apart from the rest; this appeared to be where the lithe young woman was headed.

"Hey Rani, maybe Carth's in there," Carina whispered as she made note of the loud neon _Chano's Topless Bar—Girls, Girls, Girls, All the Time!_sign in the background. She received an elbow to the gut in response. "What? It was a joke!"

"Yeah, very funny," Rani said as they filed into the tiny bridal shop.

The five women gaped, wide-eyed, at their surroundings upon arriving. Stunning vintage-style dresses covered the mannequins, while a nearby display counter boasted all the accessories a bride could ever need: shoes, jewelry, floral arrangements, veils, and garters. A modest rack of less expensive dresses hung beside the main counter. The back wall of the room was paneled with floor-length mirrors, and it featured scanty lingerie-clad mannequins, albeit with smaller bust lines and no heads. Virtually every surface of the establishment was covered in a gaudy shade of reddish blue or pastel purple.

Rani immediately greeted the owner, a portly Twi'lek who was wearing one of the shop's designs as a sort of marketing gimmick. Her heavy lekku were covered in criss-crossing white ribbons that obscured the remarkable tattoos on her flesh. She smiled at Rani and quickly acknowledged the others before disappearing into the back of the store.

"The beautiful bride!"

Rani smiled courteously and indicated the three woman to her left, minus Rika.

"These are my bridesmaids, Evy and Igrayne, and my maid of honor, Carina."

"I'm guessing you're here for these then," she said, returning a few minutes later with several bags lain neatly across both arms. She led them toward the back changing rooms, which had been painted in an ultra gloomy shade of maroon and outfitted with poor lighting. Another panel of mirrors stood facing each of the separate stalls, and as the women each accepted their dresses, Rani and Rika sat down on the chairs outside to wait for them to emerge.

"So how did you two meet?" Rika began.

"It's kind of a long story," Rani replied, coquettishly tucking several strands of long caramel hair behind her right ear. "We met during the war. We were both on Onderon when the bombing began, and our lives just sort of collided in a way I hadn't ever thought possible."

"Wow, that's incredible. I'm from Iziz, you know."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Wow, talk about a small world."

"No kidding."

"So what about you?"

"Me? There's not much to tell… After the bombing began, I fled to Coruscant, where I was accepted for training in the Jedi Order. It wasn't until about three months ago I met Igrayne after her trial, and we quickly became friends."

"Her trial?" Rani's brow furrowed in non-understanding.

"Yeah, you didn't hear? Igrayne was tried for her crimes and demoted to the rank of a Padawan."

"What crimes?"

"I guess you could say they were… crimes of passion?" Rika said, smirking. "She broke the Jedi Code by taking up with some Zabrak."

"His name was Bao-Dur," Rani replied resolutely, wrenching her hands together.

"Yeah, that's it."

"And I think you should know that he died saving Igrayne," Rani added, fixing her with a cold stare. "He's not just 'some Zabrak.'"

Rika's breath caught in her throat. "My mistake. Sorry."

Rani nodded, her attention captured by the emergence of Evy from the first stall. She came out dressed in a sexy strapless, calf-skimming pale pink gown that flattered her petite figure in all the right places. Igrayne soon joined her in front of the mirror, her ample bosom bolstered by the support of the dress. As the two surveyed themselves from all angles in the mirrors, throwing various compliments back and forth, Rani's mouth dropped open.

"You two look amazing!"

But by the time Carina sidled out of the small changing stall, her compliments had halted on her tongue, and her eyes widened slightly. As the maid of honor, Carina's dress was slightly different in style; a deep, plunging neckline accentuated her svelte figure, elongating her back and neck and giving her the appearance of a statuesque goddess. As she floated to the center of the mirrors aside the other women, her hands smoothed over the gossamer-like folds of the pale pink gown. Her midriff was accentuated with a deep rose-colored ribbon that tied in back.

"Oh, my…"

Rani rose from her seat and walked up to take Carina's hand.

"You look stunning!"

"Carina, I'm not sure you can wear that dress… you'll take all the attention off the bride!" Evy said playfully.

"Yeah, really. Who knew you had such an amazing rack?" Igrayne commented.

All eyes gazed at her in surprise—including Rika, who was seated across the room but had nevertheless heard her pronouncement.

"What? It was a compliment!"

Rani stood back, touching a hand to her chin as she surveyed Carina.

"Wait, I think something's missing…"

"What?" Carina replied hesitantly, her shoulders pressing back to highlight her amazing posture.

Rani hopped down the floor and over to the counter, where a box full of floral arrangements lay open. As she nabbed the bouquet with the deep lavender and violet-colored flowers, she came running back to settle it in Carina's hands.

"There. Perfect."

Carina spun about to gaze at her reflection in the mirror, smiling despite herself.

"Almost. I still have to have my hair done."

"Speaking of which, when are we getting that done? Is there a specific time we need to wake up tomorrow?" Igrayne queried.

"Well, I'll be up early tomorrow morning, before sunrise, to get my hair done. If you girls want, we can all go down together to the hairdresser's."

"I would love that!" Igrayne responded.

"Me too!" Carina echoed.

"And me!" Evy conceded.

Rani giggled.

"All right then. You girls should go get changed now. We'll take the dresses and flowers home to the apartment tonight and go out and do some serious partying."

"By _serious_, do you mean we're going to get seriously drunk?" Evy asked.

"Oh, yeah."

"Awesomeness!"

Rani paid the remaining balance on her purchases, bid the Twi'lek shopkeeper farewell, and led the four girls out of the shop and down through the market sector. Within minutes, they had arrived back at the apartment and were hanging up their dresses in a small coat closet beside Rani's wedding dress—which was still in its bag—at the front of the main room. Once they had finished this, they trekked back out into the station's corridors and sought out another cantina for their pre-wedding festivities. The only other cantina in Citadel Station was the _Drunken Bantha_, a small joint that served mostly off-worlders who were on a long layover to their next destination.

The ambiance was perfect for a small, low-key celebration. As the five girls marched in and ordered their drinks, announcing to the management that they were celebrating a bachelorette party that night, the human male bar keep played the hardcore flirting card, stating that the drinks were on him due to the wedding party's "overwhelming prettiness."

"Can you believe that guy? Talk about desperate," Carina groused, rolling her eyes as they selected a vacant table nearby.

"What can I say? We've got it and men want it," Rani joked.

"I'll drink to that," Carina replied, slurping down a Corellian brandy without so much as batting an eyelash.

"Carina, wait! Remember what happened the last time you drank too much?" Igrayne reminded her, mindful of Rika's horrified stare. The woman had been quietly observing the action without much of a comment, though Igrayne could tell from her tense body language and folded hands that she was less than amused by what she had seen so far. In order to combat the shock value of Carina's behavior, she took tiny, occasional sips of her drink.

"We're here to party!" Carina replied.

"I know, but let's start off slow and work our way there," Evy suggested in a meek voice.

"So Rani, have you picked out an outfit for your wedding night?" Carina asked.

"Carina!" Rika exclaimed in pure horror.

"It's okay," Rani said. "I'm pretty forward with these kinds of things. That's why she's asking."

Rika settled back in her seat, satisfied with that answer.

"Yeah, I have a saucy little number all prepared. It's black, with a lot of lace… and barely any material."

"Carth's certainly in for a surprise," Igrayne said.

"Ehh… not so much. I kind of took it for a bit of a test drive earlier this week," Rani corrected her.

"Oh, my!" Igrayne laughed.

"Yeah. I'd say it was a real hit."

Rani winked.

"That's, um… good to know."

"Come on, let's go dancing!" Carina urged. "I'm in the mood to get my groove on!"

"Is she always this insistent when she's buzzed?" Rika whispered to Igrayne.

"She just wants to have some fun."

"I'll take your word for it."

Carina coaxed the four of them onto the dance floor, where they made a ridiculous display of whooping and screaming as they bobbed about in time to the jizz-wailer music. Their behavior even earned them a few tentative stares from the musicians themselves, not to mention the rest of the bar's patrons, who watched in stunned silence as they made complete fools of themselves. Jumping up and down without any reason or rhyme, Carina seemed the least unaffected by the negative attention, the brandy having unleashed a part of her she had long thought dead. For the first time in what seemed like forever, she felt alive, on fire, and determined to keep it that way.

"I doubt Carth and the boys are having this much fun," she yelled to Rani, who was perfecting much more sensual dance movements beside her.

"Not a chance!" Rani replied over the blare of the music.

Carina came back to herself—then immediately wished she hadn't. She doubled over as another contraction shifted her guts. She opened her watering eyes and nearly impaled herself on a fleshy leaf which stuck straight up from the ground. She rolled her head to either side and concluded she was face first in a large planter.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Igrayne said from somewhere behind her. Igrayne tightened her grip on the scruff of Carina's neck as another heave bent her double. _Oh, Force_! Igrayne thought as she spied Evy teetering into an overgrown planter and squatting between prickly bushes. Rani was giggling uncontrollably and failing to hold her coat in front of Evy like a screen. And there, standing imperiously over all, was Rika, her small dark eyes squinting tight with disapproval. Another torrent of laughter broke from Evy and Rani as the two girls toppled over one another and rolled with exaggerated drunkenness off the edge of the planter.

Carina was slowly, cautiously coming back to her senses, the pints of Corellian brandy now a steaming puddle amongst the plants. She hoisted herself onto trembling legs and looked sheepishly at Igrayne who handed her a handkerchief. Carina took it and dabbed at the sweat on her face, more for the sake of appearances than from discomfort. "Wow, Igrayne, did you drink _anything_?"

"Enough." She'd started the evening off well, matching drink for drink with her friends, but instead of finding the same idiotic giddiness that the others had, Igrayne had grown increasingly maudlin, thoughts of Bao-Dur and her failure as a partner and as a Jedi crashing around in her mind, stifling the comfort of the drink until it was easier to stop all together. And as the evening had worn into night she'd only grown more morose, until her friends' celebrations had seemed like a personal affront to her dreariness. Now she felt torn and miserable, desperately wanting to join in the merriment but unable to navigate her own depression. And of course Padawan 'Sabre Up Her Butt' Rika was only making her feel worse. Embarrassment, guilt and anxiety all sloshed around inside her, making her feel volatile and useless at the same time.

"You feeling any better now?" Igrayne asked, putting her hand out to wave away Carina's soiled handkerchief.

"If this is better, I'm glad I can't remember worse."

Igrayne nodded then shrugged in the direction of Evy and Rani. "I'm glad they're having fun, but seriously, they're going to get us arrested." On cue, Evy began jokingly miming a striptease while Rani watched studiously, mock concentration written into her brow. Igrayne sighed, wishing she found it all as funny as her friends did. A small, humming security camera caught her eye; it bulged from the ceiling above the girls like a boil, its black-glass sheen dutifully recording the fiasco and no doubt already matching their faces to their IDs.

"Okay, this is fun, but reality's dawning, girls!" Igrayne barked. She clapped her hands trying to get their attention, but Evy only took the applause as encouragement and began humorously waving her pelvis at a nearby tree. "Rika, for Force's sake, you can at least help me. Grab her arm, will you?"

It was a tedious but mercifully uneventful jaunt back to the domestic levels where Rani and Evy lived. Rani's apartment was quiet with a few table lamps lighting a path towards her bedroom. Igrayne steered Rani down that path and closed the door firmly behind her. She switched the lights off as she left, hoping against hope that the bride-to-be's daffy giggling would stop soon and she'd actually get some sleep before the morning. Igrayne stepped out into the main corridor just in time to see Evy skittering off into the distance, the clacking of her high heels grounds for complaint from the neighbors. She cocked an eyebrow at Rika who returned it with a disdainful shrug.

"She said she wanted to go where the action is, whatever that means."

"Ah," Igrayne replied, hoisting Carina back onto her feet. Igrayne couldn't quite suppress a small smile as she wondered if Atton was in any fit state to be "action-ed." With Carina plodding alongside her, Igrayne set off in the direction she hoped was theirs.

She'd been expecting to wind up in the same dive as wherever the boys were holed up, and no doubt would have done if her reaction to the boozing had been less fraught. She'd been both relieved and a little sorry not to bump into Dustil. Despite her dogged devotion to her life in the Temple and even the inevitable chaos of long distance travel, thoughts of Dustil had crept relentlessly into her mind. She'd even begun dreaming of him over the few nights before her departure. They had been lust-filled but threatening dreams, her passions always clouding her judgments until whatever dream-havoc she endured had consumed her entirely. She would wake up suddenly after these dreams, feeling ill and desperate. And now her nearness to the boy left her giddy where she'd hoped to find coldness.

Rani had rented guest accommodations not too far away from her and Evy's apartments and Igrayne was suddenly more grateful for the proximity than she had thought possible. Carina was barely even awake anymore and Rika and Igrayne had to support most of her weight as they ambled through indistinguishable highways of residential corridors.

* * *

><p>Carth leaned against what he thought was his door and fumbled with a handful of miscellaneous keys. Even on a good day he couldn't quite remember what they were all for. He congratulated himself on having somehow found his keys and got them to hand before reaching his door. He was also very impressed by his unknown self's ability to get home; he didn't have the faintest memory of just how he'd managed to, which made it all the more impressive! He grinned as he realized that his other self had helpfully placed the appropriate key in the appropriate latch; what a great guy. He turned the key and let his various selves in.<p>

The room was dark, really dark. Carth thought he'd had more sense than to leave the lights off and come home to blackness, but there was a niggling almost voice in his head that told him to leave the lights off so as not to disturb someone. Carth stumbled into a rickety end table just as the almost voice was reminding him to keep the damn noise down. Whatever bric-a-brac had been on the table hit the carpet and scattered to whereabouts unknown. Carth himself tumbled face first onto the low, long sofa, an avalanche of cushions raining down upon him. He kicked at some of them, even managing to knock a couple onto the ground, before realizing he was comfortable like this and the pillows smelled of home.

Carth felt himself getting very tired and his thoughts even muzzier than before. But there was that almost-voice again, right on cue. He shouldn't spend the rest of the night here. In fact, there was something, or someone, very important that he should probably do, or see…or both. There was definitely something urgent and important and…feminine about all this. Yes! There was a very important woman waiting for him to do something. Or was what he was supposed to do the very important thing? Well, it probably would keep until the morning. And Rani would know. Rani knew everything.

Carth rolled over, pressing his ruddy face deep into the homey fluff of his makeshift bedding. He inhaled the comforting scents of Rani's soap and spicy cooking. He loved her cooking, but she never cleaned it up! And the only thing Carth liked in a kitchen more than Rani's cooking was cleanliness. So, he always tried to get in the kitchen before her, even if meant a diet of chili, omelets, or sandwiches. Well, maybe after they were married these things would just take care of themselves. After they were married…

Carth's stomach caught the memory only slightly before his head did and sent him hurtling toward the fresher with a speed he hadn't used since he was a recruit. He vaulted over the back of the couch and bound across the pristine carpet in two sprawling strides. He reached the fresher and stretched his face over the toilet bowl. Stone cold clarity was as forthcoming as his liquid dinner and he cursed Tren and Atton with every wheezing, sputtering breath he drew.

In the bedroom, Rani squeezed Carth's pillow tighter to her as another tremble of giggles overtook her. Over the back of the bedroom door hung Carth's suit for the morning, pressed and clean, and watching down over her like the starched soldier Carth still thought himself to be.

Another ballad of curses burst from the fresher, Carth's inspired swearing punctuated by the rhythmic flushing of the toilet. Rani buried her head beneath the covers and laughed until tears rolled from her eyes.

* * *

><p>Evy couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun. She was sitting on Atton's knee around their generous dining table, pints of ale and brandy being passed from one guest to another like luna-weed. The lights were low and warm and the guests loud and jolly. Someone she'd never seen before was butchering a joke about the daughter of a Bantha herdsmen and a travelling salesman. Evy didn't understand the joke, but she still found it uproariously funny. She asked Atton what it meant and when he confessed he hadn't even heard it she laughed all the harder. Atton was laughing too.<p>

It had been a long time since the two of them shared a joke, even one they didn't understand. Too long. Beneath her, Atton's hips shifted with his laughter and Evy found she couldn't think of anything else. She twisted on his lap to look at him and smiled, tilting one side of her mouth higher than the other, a habit she'd picked up from him. Atton sat his pint glass down and Evy climbed off his lap. She tugged him to his feet by his lapels and pulled him across the room towards their bedroom, delightfully aware of his warmth and his height as he bent to kiss her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and swung the bedroom door open.

"Think you can be quiet?"

"Force no!"

Dustil sighed and swatted at the light switch. It clicked and ushered a headache-inducing buzz as dull beige light filled the room, making more shadows than it cured. He staggered a little way into the room before sliding heavily down a nearby wall. He had drunk almost nothing over the long, long evening, fearing the inevitable mood swings that he was prone to. After years of optimistic practice, Dustil had finally concluded that he was a very bad drunk. A quality which he, apparently, had _not_ inherited from his idiot father.

He fumbled through lint-filled pockets till he found a packet of cigarras and stuck one between parched lips. He lit it and felt the moisture drain away from his mouth and throat, the smoke turning stagnant in the little room and stinging his eyes. He took another long drag before feeling man enough to crawl over to the stack of papers and used tissues by his cot.

He went straight to the bottom of the pile and pulled out a picture frame, concealed between two thick, well read books. He leaned his head against the wall and looked through swirling blue-grey smoke at his only picture of Igrayne. He pulled a weedy blanket from off his cot and dragged it over his head like a tent.

Dustil had battled with insomnia most of his adult life, but this was going to be a long night. He took one more drag on his cigarra before wiping its head out onto the floor beside him and blowing a tendril of smoke directly into Igrayne's staring black eyes. A _very _long night.


	4. Meeting Vhisper

Two figures walked silently through the urban streets and pathways of Nar Shaddaa. Though it was daytime, the companions had to rely on the city lights, as the tall, decrepit buildings and the roiling clouds of pollution hid most of the sun's light, giving the landscape a haunted feel. The lights gave off a tinted and dim light due to the fact that they were soiled with dirt and grime; they provided many shadows for the planet's more _mischievous_ residents to rest or reside in, where they could not be seen by probing eyes. Some of the lights were broken and uncovered, flickering pathetically and, when observed from afar, provided small and furtive glimpses of the two travelers. The haphazard blinking of the lamps had the air of a fussy candle flame who could not decide where to sit. Trash littered the streets before and behind the two figures, and some of the poorer residents of the planet were hunched over the ground, searching for anything that they could use to turn their luck. Some chased the more valuable objects as they rolled down a decline while others fought over the garbage, playing a sick game of tug-of-war.

The two companions walked briskly through the streets, avoiding the dark corners and skirting out of the path of the homeless. Their bodies were tense and their eyes darted around their surroundings, ready to face any threat, with violence if necessary. Their hands swung in time with their steady pace but somehow remained close to the blasters holstered in their belts. They walked with the assured air of people who had survived many battles and learned from each one, though it was obvious they did not let this bring their guard down or decrease their wariness. Their clothes were simple and well-worn, though not ugly or grimy like the planet's poorer residents around them.

The woman had curly brown hair she kept back from her face in a ponytail. A fedora, which seemed to almost be a part of her, donned her head. She seemed to possess an educated intelligence, though the scar on her left cheek and the hidden steeliness in her eyes told of a tragic, difficult past. Her companion, a man, had short, brown hair which was parted down the center of his head. Though he was full of a rogue charm, it was obvious that he, too, had had a trying past. And though the two were warily eying their surroundings for any type of threat, any observant individual could tell that they were very much in love.

They did not hold hands or link arms as young couples did; rather, they walked closely together, not for the need of additional protection, but because they enjoyed each other's physical presence and company. Their wary actions seemed to be not only for the protection of themselves, but also for the protection of their companion.

The woman, Indy, looked to her lover, Han. "Do you think it'll be there?" she asked quietly.

"Igrayne said it was."

"But what if Terrik sold it?"

"Then we find who bought it."

"But what if we can't?"

Han looked at her and gave her a reassuring smile. "We'll find it. Don't worry."

Indy returned his smile with a weak one then quickened her steps.

They continued their trek through the grubby streets of Nar Shaddaa, headed for Old Man Terrik's shipyard. As they neared the property, the details of its nature came into view. Ships littered the yard, most of which were in a poor, poor state. Their hulls were scuffed and scratched, and many were littered with carbon scoring. The majority had cracks running through their windows like jagged and broken veins. Parts and wires were strewn on the ground around the ships, telling visitors of their unhealthy condition. Each ship told a different story, most of which were violent and possessed little hope. The yard screamed to customers "graveyard!" Indy's mood darkened.

Indy and Han entered through the nearest and possibly only entrance to the old man's shipyard. Though the sorry-looking jumble of ships provided many stories to tell just by looking at them, their eyes were focused on the small administrative building—though it was generous to call it even that. A fairly large path was carved out of the jumble of ships in the yard, leading to the large and rusting cargo container. The windows were carved into the container and had the air of a tortuous withdrawal of organs, the clumsily placed durasteel and transparisteel acting as a poor synthetic replacement.

The ill-cut, durasteel door swung open—squealing in protest—and revealed an old man, limping sickly. He resembled his shipyard, though at least he could function somewhat properly. A grimy, metal rod, likely taken from the ground of his shipyard, acted as a leg to replace one of his missing ones, though it was considerably shorter than his other. One of his ears was missing, giving him a lopsided, rag-doll look, and one of his eyes darted back and forth within his skull, seemingly unable to focus on anything.

"What can I do you two lovebirds fer?" he said, giving the couple an exaggerated wink with his working eye; the look was quite gruesome.

Indy rolled her eyes, which caused Han to smirk with amusement.

"We're looking for a ship," he said, "A very particular ship."

"Well… what ship?"

"It's called the _Centurion's Blade_," Indy answered.

The old man wheezed loudly, which apparently was his way of chuckling. "I don' know names, Missy. What kind of ship?"

Han quickly described the ship as Indy looked to the ground and shuffled her feet, not trusting herself to speak. As Han relayed the ship's information to Terrik, his hand slowly moved to his face, where it scratched his chin thoughtfully. After a few moments, his eyes brightened and a smile appeared onto his face as he found the answer he sought.

"I know the ship yer lookin' fer!"

Though she managed to keep a straight face, inside Indy was exploding with excitement. The _Blade_ was here! "Where is it?" she asked, trying to maintain her composure.

"Oh," Terrik said. "You wanta buy it? Well, Missy… I don' have it no more."

"What do you mean you don't have it?" Indy snapped.

"I said that I knew it, not that I had it," the old man replied with a wink. "I sold it."

Indy, whom Han could tell was boiling-over livid, stepped between his partner and the old man, effectively intervening. "Do you remember who you sold it to? Or where we could find them?"

"Sure do. Sold it to a pretty lil' mechanic named Vhis. Knowin' 'er, she'll be at Tarren's Garage, fixin' up that ship. She'll sell it to yer if she's finished."

Indy turned promptly on her heels and left the shipyard at a brisk pace without even bidding farewell to the quirky owner. Han tossed a small credit chip to Old Man Terrik, nodding briefly, before he followed the woman out of the business.

The mechanic's shop was a short walk from Terrik's shipyard, which—thanks to Indy's quick, determined steps—took a small amount of time to traverse. The garage was a little shabby but nowhere near the grubbiness of the business from which they had come. The automatic doors, spotted with dirt and small insects, opened for the two smugglers to reveal a moderately clean office. The walls had a couple of scorch marks here and there, and on the floor lay a few small piles of greasy parts and tools. There was also a well-used workbench in the room, littered with small weapons parts and tools; it was clearly meant for upgrades. Close to the entrance was an administrative desk on which an unorganized mess of papers and records were kept.

A male human was looking hopelessly at the desk, scratching his head with a confused expression on his face. His hair was a curly, scruffy mess and colored in the warm red hue of a sunset. His eyes matched that of a crisp and beautiful blue sky that would be expected on any planet other than Nar Shaddaa. Freckles amassed themselves on his forehead, nose, and cheeks, though how he would obtain such marks from the sun on the Smuggler's Moon was a mystery.

He appeared to be so consumed in his task that he didn't notice the couple come in. Though Han appeared to be ready to wait patiently for the man's attention—years of working for a self-righteous Hutt granted you that skill—Indy was not. After a few moments of being ignored without sign of cease, she took a few long strides toward the desk and rapped sharply on the furniture. Surprised, the man looked up sharply but, once seeing they did not pose an immediate threat, smiled warmly. His grin was wide and happy and revealed large dimples, giving him an innocent appearance.

"Hey guys," he greeted. "Can I get you anything?"

"We're looking for someone named Vhis," Indy answered. "Old Man Terrik told us this was where we could find her."

"Frack, you just missed her. She's been working on this real junk piece all day and the poor thing barely ate anything all day. She's eating out not too far from here, at this Corellian restaurant. Here, let me give you the address." He took out a flimsy pad, writing brief directions on it in a large, untidy scrawl. Once finished, he held out the pad, his helpful smile still on his face.

"Thanks," Indy said, taking the pad. Han gave the man a brief nod and the two left the garage in search of the eatery.

Though the restaurant was a little further off from the garage, Indy and Han reached it in a small amount of time. It was a medium-sized establishment, with large windows that were fairly clean. A large, red, neon sign stated the name of the business: _The Corellisi_. Inside, the colors were a warm palette of light and dark browns with some unsaturated oranges. A few large flimsiplasts were on the walls, depicting Corellian scenery and wildlife, though there were not so many that the eatery seemed too Corellian. One or two couples ate their meals together, consumed in each other, and a large, boisterous group laughed and ate their food merrily. The establishment overall had a warm and welcoming feel to it.

Indy and Han walked toward the bar, where a stocky, curly-haired barman was wiping the counter.

"Know where we can find a mechanic named Vhis?"

The man opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted with, "Wouldn't be looking for Vhisper Saal, eh?"

The couple wheeled around to face a young woman eating her food alone. She had chosen a booth in which she occupied an entire side, with her back leaning against the wall and her feet stretched out before her comfortably. Light blue eyes pierced the smugglers'; they seemed to be trying to guess the pair's intentions. A black tangle of curls barely brushed her shoulders and soft bangs slightly curled over her forehead. She was short and her body was curved in and out womanly, yet her muscles were also visibly toned. A sharp, heavily customized vibroblade hung from her utility belt and, in conjunction with her well-toned body, effectively warned others she was not someone to be trifled with. Her clothes seemed comfortable, and the smudges of dirt, oil, and grease—as well as the few spots of grease on her face—told others of her profession. Despite the mess, she still had a friendly smile firmly planted on her face that seemed to counteract a hidden pain in her eyes, visible only to a keen observer.

Han stepped forward toward the woman. "You her?" he asked, jerking his head slightly upward.

She laughed, a light-hearted, fun-loving laugh, and gestured toward the other side of the table with a gloved hand. "Sit down, guys. Barkeep! A couple of spiced ales for my friends here. Plus another one for me," she ordered, winking. The barman nodded briefly and began filling three large glasses with a warm-colored, foaming liquid. "I hope you guys like Corellian ale."

"Sure do," Indy said enthusiastically, which caused Han to smile. She seemed to be more relaxed, with a better disposition now that the pair had seemingly found the _Blade_.

The three drinks swiftly arrived to the table, and Vhis took a long draught; the couple sitting across from her followed. The bubbly foam left thick mustaches above their lips, which Vhis licked off exaggeratedly, a mischievous smile on her face. Her company chuckled, and Indy followed suit. Han chose to leave his on his face.

"So... You guys need a mechanic, eh?" Vhis asked, taking another sip from her ale.

"Not exactly," answered Han. "We're looking for a ship that you bought: The _Centurion's Blade_?"

"_Centurion's Blade_, eh? Light freighter, heavily modified?"

"That's her!" Indy cried out, forgetting her Sabaac-face. Han gave her a scolding glance as horror flitted across her features and she realized that she had just raised the asking price for the ship; her expression was quickly replaced with her Sabaac-face once more.

Han looked away from his partner and said, "We want to buy this ship, if at all possible."

Vhis smiled with amusement. "You're in luck, guys. Turns out that I bought that ship to fix it up and re-sell it. I've gotta tell you, I sure had a fraggin' hard time repairing that thing. You guys must have been through hell and back with it."

"And then some," Indy piped in.

"How much are you asking?" Han asked.

"Not done yet. I've still got a couple of small things to finish before I want to sell it. I don't like selling something that isn't done... It could get someone hurt if they don't know what they're doing."

"We know our way around mechanics," Indy pointed out. "After all, we made all of those upgrades ourselves."

"And some of them were about to fall apart. Don't get me wrong, I'm not knocking your skill, but it's a safety thing. You guys seem like nice people, and I wouldn't want you to get hurt because I was trying to make some quick credits."

"We'll give you extra," Han offered.

Vhis shook her head. "I'm really sorry guys. You'll have to wait until it's finished." She chugged the rest of her ale, and announced: "'Scuse me, got to go to the 'fresher." She stood up and left the table.

Once she was out of earshot, Indy asked, "What about the wedding? I don't want to miss Rani and Carth getting married."

Han grimaced. "I know, I don't want to miss it either, but we've got to wait or take a shuttle to Telos. But, from the sounds of it, we're going to need all the credits that we can get; it sounds like she's fixing up the _Blade_to be brand-new."

"But..."

"We'll see what we can do." Han told her, resting his hand on hers.

It was at this moment that Vhis re-arrived at the table, regarding their half-finished drinks with scrutiny. "Tell you what. I'm really sorry about not being able to sell you guys your ship back right away, 'cause it seems like you really want it. Let me buy you guys another drink." She smiled mischievously and said, "But you gotta finish those ones first."

The couple laughed and drank the rest of their ales. Who would refuse free booze? Vhis signaled the barman and showed him three fingers, winking. Their drinks were quickly brought to them: three shots of Corellian rum. Indy eyed the drink with scrutiny, while Han smirked and took his quickly.

"Not going to drink it?" Vhis asked. She downed her shot and said, "Pansy."

Indy's eyes narrowed, then she threw her head back and took the rum.

Vhis chuckled, then leaned forward on the table, resting her chin on one of her gloved hands. "I bet that I could out-drink the both of you," she challenged them, a smirk on her face.

Han laughed out loud, then leaned forward as well, resting both of his hands on the table. "No chance, sister."

"Oh yeah?" Vhis asked.

"Yeah!" Indy replied.

Vhis' eyes narrowed as she shouted, "Barkeep! Gimme another round! And keep 'em coming!"

* * *

><p>"You suuure you can't give us that ship?" Indy asked, leaning forward onto the table and giving Vhis a strange look. Shot glasses and ale mugs littered the table; it would have been a surprise to a casual observer that she could even find a place to place her hands.<p>

"Yes, I am sure," Vhis answered assertively, seemingly proud by the fact that she knew her answer. "I—I… I _like_ you guys. You're really, _really_nice and I don't want you to get hurt!"

"But what about the wedding?" Indy cried out, distressed.

"_Wedding_? I _love_ weddings! Who's getting married? _That guy_?" Vhis exclaimed, pointing enthusiastically at a man from across the restaurant.

"Nooo," Han answered, laughing. He proceeded to laugh loudly for a few moments before continuing. "Rani Taraster and Carth Onasi! _They're_getting married! We gotta be there!"

"Oh _Force_! You can't miss that!" Vhis yelled. "Rani and Carth? You _gotta_ go to that!"

"I _know_!" said Indy and Han together, which caused the both of them to giggle uncontrollably.

"Tell you what! I, with my awesome mechanic skills, have decided that your ship can make _one_ trip. _Just one_! I'll come with you and when we get there, I can finish it for you!" Vhis offered.

"_Okay_!" Indy exclaimed. "Let's go!"

The three of them left the establishment, with Vhis shouting on her way out, "Put it on my tab, barkeep!"

* * *

><p>Once they had been stumbling along the streets for a few minutes, Vhis said, "This journey needs some music. I am going to sing us a traveling song!" Before the other two could protest, she launched into her choice, singing rambunctiously, in a squealing, high voice, "<em>She wants to touch me, whoa! She wants to love me, whoa! She'll never leave me, whoah-oh-oh! Don't trust a hoe! Never trust a hoe! Won't trust a hoe! Don't trust me!<em>" She began to giggle incessantly.

Indy began laughing so uncontrollably that she fell face-first onto the ground. Han began laughing as well, though it appeared to be about his partner's clumsiness, and leaned forward to help her up. He fell down beside her instead, this only increasing his laughter. Vhis stopped just before them.

"Do you see these boots?" she asked, pointing at her knee-length black footwear. "I _love_ these boots! My dad gave them to me and I wear them _all the time_!" she told the pair with a grin stretched across her face. However, her frown faltered for a moment as she realized something. "Except when I go to sleep. _I love you, boots_!" she finished, and leaned down in an attempt to hug her boots. She did not succeed, however, and crashed down upon herself, landing on the ground before Indy and Han.

* * *

><p>Vhis opened her eyes suddenly and then regretted it instantly; a pounding pain assaulted her head as a result of her waking. She closed her eyes quickly and brought her hand to her head, groaning loudly. She waited for a few moments before attempting to move again, after which she opened her eyes slowly, taking in her surroundings, which a bright, newly installed light illuminated: she was in a fairly large room that was clearly meant as a cargo hold. She was lying on a cold, metal floor, without any bedding to protect her from the low temperature. After some contemplation, she realized that she was lying on the floor of her most recent project: a beat-up ship that she had found in Old Man Terrik's shipyard for cheap. Puzzled, she fought her throbbing headache as she worked her way through the night, concentrating on the hazy details that could give her a clue as to where she was.<p>

Vhis got up suddenly in alarm, which she immediately regretted. "No," she said, as her hand flew to her head and she massaged her temples. However, instead of retreating to the floor, she stood up quickly and raced to the cockpit, repeating her previous statement over and over under her breath.

She arrived to her destination, and a final "no" escaped her lips. She saw the couple from the night before, in similar condition to herself, piloting the ship through hyperspace. At the sound of her voice, the two wheeled around in surprise, clearly thinking the same thing that she was. Vhis groaned.

"Guess I was pretty drunk last night, eh?" she said, chuckling.

"We all were," Han answered. "I can't honestly say that I remember bringing you with us, though."

"Mind telling me where you're bringing me? Might be good for me to know," Vhis asked, smiling.

"Telos," Han answered.

Vhis nodded thoughtfully and then frowned when a thought crossed her mind. "You guys didn't take off drunk, did you?"

"No," Indy and Han answered, forcefully, at the same time.

"We just didn't want to miss the wedding, so we left pretty early," Indy continued. A brief look of confusion crossed her face. "Where the Force were you hiding?"

"I, uh…" Vhis mumbled, running a hand through her hair, "I woke up in the cargo hold." The other two laughed. "Guess I'll have to call Vee and ask her where the Turhaya is..." she added, leaving the cockpit.

As she left, Indy turned to Han, still giggling, and asked, "Who would have thought that we would bring her with us?"

"I dunno," Han answered, shrugging. "We must have liked her?"

* * *

><p>"So you're telling me you're on Telos?" Vhis asked the blue flickering hologram of her pilot droid, Vee. The droid started beeping out what seemed to be an explanation when Vhis interrupted. "No, that's fine. I'm headed there anyways. It'll be good to get off of Nar Shaddaa for a while," she mused. "You've got my stuff?" Vee fired off a few short beeps and boops. "All right. Thanks, Vee. See you later." She pressed a button in front of her and the hologram disappeared. "Guess I better finish the repairs," she said to herself, sighing as she departed in search of her toolbox.<p>

* * *

><p>Dustil's alarm clock had grown suicidal; it squawked and pleaded at him until its obscene bleating had become hoarse and erratic. Now, in the final throes of its monotonous but diligent life, it had developed a hopping, buzzing vibration as it shuddered its way toward the edge of its desk-top perch. With one final factory-set cry, it hurtled over the side and landed on the stained carpet with a sardonic jingle. Lying face down, it exerted a plaintive cry one full octave higher than Dustil had ever heard it make before, then, in fitting morbidity, its battery guts exploded through the little hatch in its back.<p>

Dustil pulled the blanket off his head and stared at the battery-operated crime scene, the ghostly prayers of his daily companion still haunting his ears and making the blood vessels in his eyes pulse to the maddening un-rhythm.

He had hours still before he had to be at the venue. Even without the timekeeping valor of his comrade in monotony, Dustil could tell the synthetic hours (even the seasons) of the station; he'd noticed them, and by noticing, studied, and by studying, defeated. A wave of bottomless melancholy swept over him, mocking and defiling his attempts at self-salvation. _You're not a soldier anymore_, it jeered. _You're not even much of a man anymore_. Dustil closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall where he'd spent the night. The taste of his own saliva was making him feel sick and he had to fight the convulsions in his stomach. He gulped at the rising pool of bile in his throat until his eyes watered with effort and shame.

Sometime later, Dustil opened his stinging eyes. Without intention, his gaze fell onto the picture of Igrayne that had sat up all night with him. He shuddered and suddenly felt very small within her stare, and stupid. He cast the rest of the blanket off his lap with a grunt and stood up, clutching the wall for support against his numbed and trembling legs.

Dustil lurched his way toward the 'fresher, his ceaselessly regimented soldier's brain already compartmentalizing and mapping his battle that lay ahead. He had hours still, hours to shave, get his suit from the cleaners, and sober up. He flinched under the weight of this realization; he had only hours to make himself into someone his idiot father could be proud of. Hours to accomplish what a lifetime had already failed at. And he thought the night had seemed long!

* * *

><p>It was the dead of night when Cilla reached the port, but the hour did not dissuade a single traveller. The fluorescent glow from the main pedestrian entrance cast a pallid husk of light over Cilla's face and hair, making her sink further into the spiky bushes that concealed her. She'd hoped to find a less attended entrance or a Cilla-sized gap in a fence that would emit her to a bay and the rest would, as they say, be history. But the port was far too large and complex for her to have skirted the perimeter and far too hectic to give her the privacy to snoop.<p>

From where she crouched, Cilla could just make out the bustling, glass domed archway that welcomed travellers a dozen wide into the port. She couldn't see anyone like a guard or policeman in the entrance, but then she couldn't see much detail at all from her distance.

High above her, landing pads twinkled merrily and space-bound ships whirled. Cilla closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself onto one of those ships. She tried imagining every fathomable detail of the flight—the smell of oil and hot metal, the flippy sounds of rivets being tensed and the bestial howl of engines—but nothing happened. Then she tried meditating her way on board, but that did nothing either. She had no way of telling how late it was and consequently how much longer she had the dark to hide in. She also reasoned that the longer she remained un-apprehended, the angrier they would become with her. All she was really certain of was how much she had to get away and how quickly.

Cilla decided that even though she was guilty, a slightly plump eight-year-old little blonde girl would always seem like an unlikely culprit. She waited for a giggling, chattering gaggle of Twi'lek tourists to shamble inside the broad glass doors and out of sight and then she crept from her hiding place and dusted off her knees. She ambled toward the entrance, keeping to the darkened recesses whenever she could. Every time she heard a shout or a name being called she jumped, but no one was ever yelling at her. So far no one was even looking at her.

Cilla hesitated before the brightly lit glass arcade that led into one of the many terminals. The arcade itself was pretty in an efficient, easy-to-clean sort of way. But the wide glass doors that whooshed open then hummed shut after each traveler made Cilla think of some enormous crystal beast that lay defeated and dying, its ravaged jaws still groping and biting at the maggots that wriggled into and out of it. Cilla really didn't want to go inside.

She stood stoically beyond the trembling beast-doors for a long time, struggling to come up with more options, but none came. In the back of her mind she could feel a lump of ideas, but she couldn't reach them and eventually discarded the feeling as empty hope. With a deep breath and a great deal of courage, Cilla walked into the archway and into the beast's mouth.

Inside, the terminal was even more chaotic than she had feared. Reams of people floated by her, some running. Cilla drifted within the tide of travelers, unsure where she needed to be or how to get there. Her eyes darted nervously to every holo-screen, waiting for her image to appear above the words "wanted and extremely dangerous."

The spaceport was an architectural highway of foot traffic that propelled the majority of its travelers down wide, shiny halls like intestines. The floors and walls were tiled with unbiased, repetitive faux stucco, giving Cilla the impression that she'd been swallowed by a bathroom. At distances of five minutes, 'off-ramps' would appear without warning and scores of Cilla's fellow meanderers would veer off, whereabouts unknown. But Cilla followed her beige-tiled road. She wandered for an indiscernible length of time; windows were scarce and, when supplied, appeared like illicit slits high above her. Their deliberate ineptitude combined with the abundance of fluorescent lighting left Cilla guessing at the time of day. Eventually, her path narrowed and ended at the base of narrow twin escalators: one for going up and one for coming down.

At the foot of the ascending escalator sprawled the same group of Twi'leks she'd avoided earlier, all with matching shirts and cameras swinging from their necks like trophies. They were bent over their array of luggage, frantically stuffing items from shoulder bags into wheelie cases or vice versa in order to fit up the fiendishly thin escalator.

Cilla gave the flock a wide berth before stepping on to the escalator, her heart pounding as she stumbled with the sudden change of pace. Her frame climbed silently up the riveted black stairs like an eight-year-old sun rising—with combat boots. Her still thundering heart sank as she saw what lay before her; stretching in either direction to her left and right as far as she could see were ranks of symmetrical kiosks. Travelers lined up in front of each kiosk in cramped rows, their cumbersome luggage jostling against their legs. Space port employees with glow-in-the-dark jump suits trotted up and down the rows, attentively keeping their herds in check.

Passing through the army of kiosks and into the rest of the vast port would be impossible without an adult to help her. She wanted to stand and watch the procedure in case she'd be able to lie, cheat or steal her way through, but all the kiosk clerks looked so blindly efficient that they might take it upon themselves to come "help" her. Reluctantly, Cilla began pacing the endlessly long rows, forcing her stinging feet to keep a pace that made her look purposeful. On her third lap she was compelled to admit that an easy solution was beyond her. As soon as her concentration slackened, her suppressed senses accosted her. She was tired, sore and deliriously thirsty. Finally directing her attention to the rest of the space port she saw a sprawling courtyard of food stalls and bars. The area was busy, but mostly with tourists instead of uniformed staff.

Tucked away behind the branded food stalls and below a tangle of construction works was a very dark, very old looking cantina. It had the look of having been on that same spot for centuries while the space port had actually grown up around it. Cilla hesitated outside the cavernous doorway, debating whether she'd be invisible inside or just stand out like a, well, like a little girl in a bar. Tensing her fists by her side, she finally ducked inside the cantina.

Trying to look like she knew her way around, Cilla half marched, half trotted to the nearest and darkest empty booth. The broad padded bench was too high and deep for her to sit comfortably and the sticky synthetic upholstery made grisly slurping sounds at her every time she fidgeted. But there was one very distinct advantage to this place: from where she sat she could see directly through a vast window on to a panorama of docking bays, landing pads, blinking towers and huddled Quonset huts that were larger than most building she'd ever been in.

From the back of the dusky cantina, Cilla allowed tattered strains of other people's conversations to wash over her. To her right, a homely mother and daughter talked at each other about their favorite holo-shows. She leaned back into her sticky booth, slurping at the dregs of a drink that had been left behind. In the dark, cacophonous recesses of the cantina, Cilla felt truly overlooked, a sensation as precious to her as gold dust.

A tall waitress with brassy red hair and tired eyes glided around the tables. On each muscular shoulder she cradled deep, square buckets which sloshed ominously every time she dropped a glass into them. Cilla clutched her near-empty tumbler and tried to look like she was waiting for someone. The waitress passed without even looking at her.

Despite a number of vacant tables the bar was crowded; people, mostly men, jostled shoulders and beer guts. Many of the men had a sad but funny urgency to them, like fish bobbing at the surface of their tanks for any spare crumbs. Watching them made Cilla feel annoyed and superior at the same time. But there was one man who caught her attention and held it. His vitality and spirit made him almost luminous against his pasty, breathy peers. He was nursing a drink from a tall, leather tankard which left little foam specks in the straggly hairs around his lips. After each languid sip he would lick the specks away. He looked as much at home leaning against the soiled bar as he did foreign.

On the other end of the bar, obscured from Cilla by dozens of bobbing inebriated heads, gruff shouting followed by laughter suddenly rose above the constant din. A ripple of passive interest spread across the cantina, stilling the homely women's lectures. The shouting rose into a steady tirade, but Cilla couldn't tell who it was directed at. Most of the seated patrons turned to watch the bar, some even standing for a better view. As Cilla's own view became obscured, she saw the roguish looking man lay his drink down and stand to his full height, even pushing his chest out a little. Cilla wiggled her way under the sticky table, hoping for a better view from between the jungle of legs and boots.

Without ceremony came the hard clicking sound of a fist connecting with a jaw. Immediately the atmosphere in the cantina spilled from watch-checking anxiety into heady gore inducing mania as testosterone and battered pride filled the stale air. Cilla hunkered beneath her sturdy table and prepared to enjoy the show.

* * *

><p>Jack was not happy. In fact, he might have even said he was distinctly <em>un<em>happy. He accepted and tolerated a certain level of strange looks and hushed ridicule; his garb marked him out wherever he was, and he was not so thin-skinned that he could not allow strangers the odd gawk without feeling offense. However, this was not an off-hand comment; this man had decided he would make Jack into his entertainment for the evening and wanted his entire audience to join in on his fun. He began to shout ridiculous and derogatory remarks in Jack's direction, and at each outburst those around him howled with laughter. Jack had already had a few drinks, and some combination of annoyance and inebriation compelled him to leave behind his stoic repose and stand to confront his abuser. Calmly setting his tankard on the bar, he pulled himself up to his not inconsiderable full height and turned to face the shouting man. To his mild surprise, he wore the charcoal-grey uniform of a Republic officer, his face flushed from intoxication and his insignia marking him as a junior naval officer, not unlike the rank Jack himself once held before he learned about the true meaning that such an office held. In smooth, patient strides Jack closed the distance between himself and the officer until he stood looking down at his seated accuser.

Jack, his voice a half-mocking calm, asked him, "Is there something I can help you with, Lieutenant? I believe you have been calling for me."

The lieutenant, apparently a bit puzzled by Jack's response, stood up to confront him. He was a bit taller than Jack was, with broad shoulders and muscles that seemed pronounced even through his uniform. The scars on his face showed that this was a man accustomed to violence, and one not accustomed to being confronted by the object of his ridicule. In short, he was a bully, a description which, Jack believed, fit well with the organization he claimed to serve. Jack maintained his composure despite these qualities, however; he had prevailed over far more dangerous opponents than this drunk, burly human, and he was confident that, if it came to it, he would prevail again. The officer apparently thought otherwise, however, and spoke in the same loud, condescending tone as before,

"Yes. You can go sit your ass back down, freak. I'm not done with you yet."

Jack didn't wait long to retort.

"Oh but I'd much rather stand here and catch another whiff of your rancid, alcoholic breat—"

_Crack._

The officer's fist slammed against Jack's jaw, sending tendrils of pain through his entire head and forcing him to stumble backward and into a nearby table, which nearly caused him to lose his balance. Instead, he propped himself up uneasily against it and rubbed the spot with his right hand. It would probably be sore for a while, but he didn't think it had broken. Jack looked up at the officer and grinned.

"Not a bad shot, Lieutenant. Did they teach you how to do that at the Academy or did you have to practice it on your girlfriend before you got it down pat?"

Now he had gotten him a bit riled up. The officer yelled at him something nasty and charged toward him, fists raised. This time Jack had plenty of time to prepare, however, and easily ducked out of the way of the man's path. He felt like his awareness was…expanding, somehow, his senses all working in complete harmony with one another and with something else he couldn't quite grasp that made him feel distant from himself. From this new vantage point, the object of his focus seemed slow and clumsy and all of the usual fears and apprehensions melted away. He could clearly see and analyze every one of his opponent's movements, how one moved into the next, and in this way he could see where the officer would move almost before the officer himself knew it. Jack adjusted his own position accordingly to escape the blows that his foe had directed towards him, twisting and moving fluidly away from him.

Quickly, Jack sensed an opening and slung his foot out to catch the man in the side. The change in his expression told him his opponent felt the blow, and the groan shortly after confirmed it. He stumbled slightly and lost some of the momentum of his attack; this was all Jack needed to press the offensive. He struck with a right jab and a hook from the right struck the officer in the head, throwing him off balance. There was the faint whine of moving servos as Jack clenched his mechanical left hand into a fist and sent it rocketing toward the man in an uppercut. There was a loud cracking sound as metal connected with bone, shattering the man's jaw and sending him flying backwards, crashing into a wooden table behind him and breaking it under his weight. In a movement that seemed too quick and too fluid to be entirely natural, Jack closed all of the distance between himself and his opponent in an instant and pinned him to the ground with his own body, a boot on one of his arms and his right hand wrapped around the man's neck. He brought the man's face close to his own and spoke in a low tone such that few around him could hear it.

"I should kill you now. I should leave your body broken and useless like a ragdoll, as I'm sure you would do to me now if you were capable. Such is the hatred I possess for you and yours; such is the contempt I hold for that uniform you wear and everything that it stands for. I should cut you open and show the world how blackened and corrupt you look inside."

He held up his left hand before him, a tangled mass of steel and electrical wires barely contained by a worn leather glove crudely fitted over it. He spread his fingers out radially and, at a mental command, five black metal blades shot out from them, crowning his fingertips with razors. The fear in the man's expression was palpable.

"I should do all of these things to you, not only because of your position but because, through your own actions, you have made yourself my enemy. You have abused me, a stranger who had done you no harm, for nothing greater than your own transient amusement. You have dishonored me and invited my wrath upon you; for these crimes, I would feel no pang of conscience if I killed you now."

He moved his metal fingertips around loosely over the man's face, allowing one of the blades to dangle dangerously close to his eye. He struggled against Jack's weight, at which Jack began to strangle him with his right hand, and he quickly stopped.

"However, despite all of this, despite your deserving, I will not kill you today. I hold your life in my hand, and while I am free to snatch it away I have decided to give it back to you. My reason is simple: I am better than you are. I am better than you not because I have bested you in combat, but because I yield to you despite having already won. If I kill you, I am no different from your barbaric sort, and I can no longer hate you because I would have become one of yours. I therefore prove my superiority to you by sparing your life."

The blades slid back into his hand and the man breathed an audible sigh of relief. Jack's expression instantly turned to anger at this.

"Do not be relieved! I have given you a temporary reprieve from death. None of this high-minded talk changes the fact you are now my personal enemy. If I ever see you again on this world or any other, in a cantina or in a lavatory, I will kill you. I know your face now and you will not be able to hide your identity from me. I have visited more than half of the worlds in Republic space, including every single one with a significant naval presence, and I am certain to find myself at all of them again. Nowhere is safe for you anymore, except the confines of your own quarters. I suggest you go there now and stay there until you are due to leave this world. My name is Captain Jack Roberts, Commander of the _Satyricon_, and I will be watching for you. Go now, and do evil no more."

At this conclusion of his monologue, Jack got up, looked around him at the hushed crowd, and walked out without another word. The officer picked himself up, his skin pale as alabaster, and took off as best he could in the opposite direction.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until Jack was well away from the noise of the cantina that he realized he had made a colossal mistake. In his anger, he had revealed to a Republic officer not only his name but also the name of his ship. He wondered how long it would take the man to come to his senses and notify the rest of the naval base of his presence. The beating Jack gave him would slow him down, but he figured he had an hour at best before the <em>Satyricon<em> was surrounded by security forces. If that happened, their only options would be to either fight their way out, or abandon the ship and lay low until they could find another one to steal. Thinking about how many innocents would be killed if he fired the _Satyricon_'s weapons in a crowded spaceport, he decided neither option was feasible, so that left only getting back to the ship as soon as possible and leaving immediately. He quickened his pace and started toward the spaceport with renewed urgency.

Along the way, he felt the vague sense of being followed. Fearing that he was being watched by security forces, he checked over his shoulder but saw nothing out of sorts; a middle-aged man here, a couple of merchants there, a spacer who looked to be in his late twenties, and a young girl who could not have been more than eight. Shaking off his paranoia, he walked into the main halls of the spaceport, flashed his docking card at the attendant (and felt relief as he was admitted without incident), and strode up the ramp into the main hold of the _Satyricon_, which currently looked like any other mid-size freighter.

The interior was another matter entirely. He had stepped out of a steel hangar and into the suburban home of some quaint town on one of those few worlds that were widely inhabited but had not yet been consumed by a world-city, where green grass and laughing children were still common sights. The room was tastefully furnished, with a few chairs and a couch that looked comfortable but not lazy, and the walls were painted in what would have likely been a soft pastel were it not for the fact that every feature of the room was in grayscale. Jack, who by now was more amused than surprised by Amy's passion for creative decoration, hung up his coat on the rack near the door and smiled softly to himself as he noticed the contrast between the worn burgundy of the fabric and the unnatural greys and whites of the objects around it. He watched as the color faded from the cloth until it too was grey and then walked into the next room where Amy was waiting for him.

She was wearing an impeccably-tailored three piece suit, with a white single-breasted coat and waistcoat of the same color, with a jet-black tie cutting from the top of the waistcoat to the collar over a white shirt. The suit and the white slacks and shoes to match were just tight enough to inform the casual observer of her femininity but were not so tight as to diminish her professional composure. She wore a white fedora with a black band, light shoulder-length hair, and a Mona Lisa smile. Even in grey, her skin sparkled, as did her eyes. She was beautiful in a way that only a woman with an eye for detail and the ability to control her every feature could be. She held herself up against the dining room table with a vaguely playful demeanor before pushing against the table to draw herself up to a stand and ask him, "So what do you think?"

He answered with a slight smile, and her eyes narrowed inquisitively. "What? I thought we could use a place that was a little quieter for a change."

He chuckled lightly, shook his head, and replied, "No, no, I like it. It's a spitting image of that house on Erden, and the grey was a nice touch, like those old projections. And it _is_quiet…"

"…But you like excitement, like that temple one."

He laughed at the mention. _That_was an interesting one to come back to. "Yes, that was certainly exciting."

She gave him a light shove and shook her head. "You only liked it because I wasn't wearing anything, right?"

He didn't have anything to say to that. She drew closer to him and said, quieter, "The thing is, Jack…I'm still not wearing anything."

He shook his head and laughed again, a quiet, incredulous kind of laugh. "Technically, Amy. Only technically." He took a step back and the smile faded from his expression. He didn't always like to be reminded of just how different Amy was. He changed the subject, remembering why he had been in such a hurry to get back.

"So I think we've been compromised. We should probably get off of this world before security forces realize who we are."

Amy, who noticed both his expression and the bruises on his face, asked with a hint of cynicism, "Been out drinking again, then? Well we'd best be—"

She paused, her eyes losing their expression for a moment. Amy had many sets of eyes around the ship and right now one of them was calling her attention away from him. The moment passed quickly and she told him what had happened.

"It seems we have a visitor on board."

Jack's hand went to his pistol, but Amy's hand was quicker and grabbed away his metal hand with far greater strength than her appearance would imply. "No, Jack. I will deal with this. It's just a stowaway, and you know I don't like fighting on the ship. Go into the next room; I'm waiting in there to help you fix yourself up. Please wait there while I take care of this."

Jack knew better than to argue with Amy when she was serious. He doubted she had told him everything about what was going on, but he was confident he would find out the whole story later. She hadn't steered him wrong before and he had no reason to question her judgment now. He stepped into the next room, which looked every bit like a freighter's med-bay, and started toward another of Amy's avatars, who was indeed waiting for him there.

* * *

><p>Cilla had a bad feeling about this. The air was hot and fizzy, like an electric current, and it made her hair stand up whenever she touched something. And the shadows were wrong; things that should have made shadows did not and shadows that weren't connected to anything stretched away across the floor.<p>

A security camera on a nearby wall whirred as it turned its snout toward Cilla. It paused when it saw her and seemed to stare straight through her instead of merely recording her image. Cilla fought the urge to duck behind the sofa, knowing she'd already been seen and moving around would probably draw attention to her if she hadn't already been spotted. She stood still, trying to calmly return the electronic gaze, unsure why it mattered that she appear brave but still very sure it did.

With a composure she did not necessarily feel, Cilla watched as the little machine pulled its gears of a neck free from the wall with shuddering precision, elongating and morphing into a humanoid shape as it wrenched free. Its doggy-like muzzle broadened and flattened into a sphere, then into a pocked and pitted human skull. The thing continued to glide free of the wall, effortlessly seeping into the room. Its neck absorbed the contours of its wires and sockets, becoming the veins and tendons of a human neck. Then slim shoulders oozed from the wall and the long, elegant form of a woman stepped out from the daisy wallpaper and stood in front of Cilla.

Cilla stood rigid beneath the woman's gaze, willing herself not to scream, not to even move. She felt her hackles rising and her head pound with mounting adrenaline. She began placing one foot behind the other, backing out the way she had come in. But the horrible woman's head stayed within slapping distance of Cilla's own face, the neck simply uncoiling as their distance grew. With her heart nearly pounding through her chest, Cilla pivoted, her head and shoulders, rigid with terror. As her face turned away from the woman, instinct overpowered caution and Cilla bolted for the exit and freedom. She spun on her heel and collided with a wall, sending her sprawling to the floor. Cilla blinked stupidly at the wall, which she was sure had not always been there as thin blood dripped from her nose.

She struggled with panic as her bearings in this monstrous room drained away from her. Heedless of the woman standing statue-like behind her, Cilla was upright and running toward the center of the living room, where she hoped to find an exit.

As she ran, thick walls uprooted from the ground and shot into the air. Cilla ducked and dove her way through the maze, losing her balance and skittering across the floor more than once. She felt she was running in circles, being herded within a pointless lab experiment. But when she tried to turn or outrun the shifting procession of walls, the woman was always there, watching with black sheenless eyes.

The panic rose through her, shaking her bones and making her blood curdle. Her vision clouded while hot and cold running sweat threatened to drown her brain; her senses were fading and burning at the same time and nothing, nothing seemed like it could ever make sense again. Then the second epiphany of Cilla's short life dawned. A deep, dark coil inside her tensed to breaking point. Then it snapped, very quietly and very quickly. Cilla had had enough. The ragged razor edges of the rest of her life flapped about in her conscious mind until Cilla very carefully took them by control. One by one she smoothed down the alternatives of the rest of her life until the simplest solution lay unfurled and obvious before her. Cilla set out and didn't look back.

"Stop it," she said. She turned and found, to no surprise, the woman oppressively close to her. Cilla's chest heaved as hapless, wheezing breaths shook her like a dry leaf on a branch. "You only want something to play with; if you wanted to kill me you would have by now." The woman's face remained impassive, but Cilla thought she could feel hot prickly shock rising off the ship itself. "My feet feel like they've been running all my life and I won't do it anymore. I _won't_." She waited expectantly for the woman to do something, anything. It didn't matter; Cilla had made an unalterable decision and wanted a result.

"_You_," the woman paused, weighing her options, "are bold, little girl. Or stupid, or both." It was an overly calculated play and the affront had been dulled by Cilla's wait. "But there is…something else."

Something was hanging in the balance— not her security, she was now reasonably certain of that—but something altogether more…insipid. Cilla's lips twitched as her mind struggled to find the sounds of her thoughts. At last the power struggle swayed in Cilla's direction, "_You_can suck a fuck."

She regretted her choice of confrontation immediately. Her small, trembling voice was pathetic in the world of adult words—words only her father was really supposed to say. But it was too late to retract her stance, and Cilla would not run from it, not ever. "So I can walk away now and you'll forget you saw me and I'll forget what I saw too, or you can get me out of here before I start screaming and you have to explain to tons of soldiers why you have a lost kid on board who's bleeding and doesn't want to be." Cilla felt the shallowness of her hasty ultimatum. It held no real threat but appeared to give her the upper hand despite that.

The woman unwrapped herself from the sofa where she had withdrawn and stretched languidly, a long, loud yawn barely stifled from her lips. She looked at Cilla for a faltering moment, her eyes moving over the little girl, almost scanning her. She reached a decision, indicated only by a gently growing smirk across her too smooth skin. With cat-like complacency she glided from the room, which Cilla could see was clearly a cramped cargo bay and nothing more. Deep, guttural whooshing noises burst from the exit hatch. Cilla spun round; she had never been aboard a spaceship before but knew the sound of no return when she heard it. As if on cue, an earthquake of rumblings and hummings rose through the roughly riveted floor, adding to Cilla's already trembling frame until she was forced to crawl to the nearby sofa (which was grotesquely stained and soiled) and cling to its itchy hem. _So this is what goodbyes feel like_. The thought slipped into her mind on maudlin, oiled tracks.

And as the _Satyricon_ rose above and away from the forever grounded station, the walls within Cilla's young mind made their irrevocable decisions. She was done running. Cilla the innocent, the victim, the child, was done.


	5. Wedding Preparations

Igrayne awoke to groggily hit the snooze button on her bedside chrono as it buzzed a warning to her that dawn was almost here. In her haste to locate the clothes she had laid out the night before, she tripped over the pink high-heeled shoes stacked neatly beside her bed, planting her face in the plush beige carpet. For a moment she was tempted to simply doze back into a castaway slumber, but the rude sound of knocking quickly convinced her otherwise.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" she yelled without a thought as to who might be at the door. Pushing herself to her feet and grabbing a hideously patterned robe she then threw about her petite frame, she palmed the keypad to the door to find Carina standing there, already dressed, groomed, and ready for their hair appointment. Her green eyes sparkled vibrantly, and the all-black ensemble she had chosen was fittingly basic, a sharp contrast to the extravagant frocks Rani had selected for them to wear later that day. Although her mane was unwashed, its brilliant, lustrous sheen seemed to suggest otherwise, and Igrayne, suddenly jealous, silently cursed her Kuati family's dominant oily hair gene as the reason behind last night's impromptu before-bed shower.

"You're here early," Igrayne observed.

"Early? It's almost eight. Rani just came by to tell me she and Evy would meet us down at the hair salon. They're already there."

"Frack! Wait here!"

In her haste to finish dressing, Igrayne slipped into a slovenly-looking pair of workpants and a tank top, tying her long tresses into a topknot at the back of her head. With a quick slick of nude lipstick and a pinch of the cheeks to make them appear deceptively rosy, she rejoined Carina at the door where she was waiting impatiently.

"So where's Miss Jedi Sassypants?" Carina teased.

"You mean Rika? I don't know… she must be getting ready too."

"Am I the only one who doesn't go through an entire dressing ritual in the morning?"

"Must be," Igrayne said with a smile, locking the door behind her. The two women walked in companionable silence through the residential modules before locating Rika's apartment. It was situated down a small corridor that branched off to the left of Rani's apartment.

As Igrayne and Carina came before a modest assemblage of potted plants and verdant greenery placed directly opposite the apartment, Carina suddenly said, "For someone who's eager to put the kibosh on our fun and call it an early night, she sure does take her time getting ready."

"Be nice," Igrayne said patiently. "Remember, she helped me drag your drunk ass back to your bedroom last night. You were in no fit state to do it by yourself, so…"

"I know, I know. _Be grateful_. Whatever."

"That's the spirit."

Igrayne lifted a hand to the door and rapped on it with a musical crunch of her knuckles. Within minutes, Rika was shuffling out the door in an airy, feminine royal blue wrap dress, causing the both of them to balk.

"Well, you look pretty," Igrayne commented.

"Thanks. I want to look nice for the wedding."

"It's still several hours away," Carina reminded her.

"I know, but I wasn't sure if we'd be coming back to the apartments for touch-ups or what. I just wanted to be on the safe side." As she said this, she was braiding her hair into a long, tight plait for the short trip to the salon.

"Yeah, we'll be back, don't worry."

"We ready?" Carina asked."

"Let's go."

The crush of residents filling the hallways made it difficult for the three women to navigate the corridors with success. Additionally, the residential module was scattered in a veritable hodgepodge of clashing, at times confusing wings and junctions all connected by narrow walkways. After incorrectly choosing a route that promptly spat them back out in front of Rani's by-now hated apartment, Rika finally spotted the way out. With some relief, the other two women sighed and followed her out.

Citadel Station was as bustling as the streets of Thani. As a central hub of activity for many of Telos' residents, it boasted an impressively vast network that consisted of hundreds of fully-enclosed, multi-level modules that ranged from residential to commercial in nature. The three women passed by several of the many businesses lining the impressive walk, such as the Bumani Exchange Corporation, and—more notably—Czerka.

Igrayne closed her eyes with a painful squeeze when she was reminded of a whispered conversation she'd had with Bao-Dur not very long ago, in which he had expressed his disdain for Czerka and their attempts to use the Ithorians' Restoration Project as a means of gaining power on the small but politically significant world. The feeling of his breath on her neck as he spoke, his hands at her back, tying the ribbon of her long, gossamer-like dress with expert precision, was still so clear within her mind. She could almost still smell him beside her as the memory began to tantalize every one of her five senses.

"Igrayne, are you okay?" Carina asked after a few moments of walking in silence. She must have noticed the way the other woman was gripping the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger—willing the painful memory away.

"Just a headache."

"I'm sure Evy will have something you can take when we get to the salon. She's got all the good stuff."

"Yeah," Igrayne replied, though there was no mirth in her response.

"Let's take the shuttle. It's faster than walking," Carina suggested.

"And how much will _that_cost?" Rika said with some annoyance.

"Not that much," Carina replied coolly, barely giving her a second glance. "Come on."

The three women came to a small, nondescript shuttle terminal that would convey them to the nearby entertainment module where the others were already waiting. As they milled around aimlessly in the waiting area, Igrayne couldn't help but notice how the entire room had been outfitted in the ugliest shade of gray she had ever seen; a row of backless chairs upholstered in charcoal gray leather lined the area where the terminal personnel stood behind a desk—similarly outfitted in the same hideous shade as the chairs. The carpet was no better, and to add to the particularly puke-tastic effect conjured up by the all-gray interior was the dirty wear and tear left on the rug by countless soles of travelers past.

Igrayne was thankful for a reprieve from the eyesore when the shuttle finally arrived and whisked them away toward their destination. She didn't bother finding a seat as the shuttle coasted along steadily, so instead she reached up and grabbed a handrail—gray; no surprise there. Moments later, the three of them disembarked in what looked like the red-light district of Telos' entertainment module. Loose women hung out of every side street business and unsavory gamblers and card sharps littered the streets like garbage.

"_This_is where Rani booked us a hair appointment?" Carina gawked, her green eyes opening massively.

"I was just thinking the same thing…" Rika agreed.

"I'm sure the further we walk, the nicer it gets," Igrayne suddenly said, trying to remain upbeat.

"If you say so…"

What appeared at first glance to be an inhospitable miasma of sex, drugs, and disease soon transformed into a pleasant, upscale space at the heart of a bustling commerce sector. As they continued toward the center of the corridors, the women quickly recognized the well-to-do establishments of the day before—the bridal shop, the merchants' store, and even the cantina—which looked like heaven in comparison to the _other_sector.

"She said it was down to the left a little yesterday when we left the bridal shop," Carina said, taking the lead. She had no problem locating it, as it was set apart from the other businesses by its fun, funky atmosphere. A generous use of color filters transformed the light inside the salon from boring white to blue, violet, and green—a rainbow that danced over the unoccupied chairs facing the wall-length mirror. The three women ducked inside to see Rani and Evy standing toward the other side of the wall, deep in conversation.

"Knock knock," Carina said, gently touching the wall to announce their presence.

With a shout of joy, Rani glided over to them, greeting each with an affectionate hug. The tension she had earlier displayed toward Rika had fled, and in its place was exuberance. It was clear from the look on her beautiful face that she was very excited about the big day.

"I'm so glad you guys are here," she said genuinely.

A woman cleared her throat from behind them. It was a slightly obnoxious whooping sound—done more for show than actual necessity. Its intended purpose worked, as all the women looked toward the stout, overly plump Twi'lek at the back. She was beyond middle-aged, with blue-gray markings that looked as though they had faded in hue over the years.

"Forgive my rudeness… ladies, this is Brenna Oorhies. She's the only person I let touch my hair. I know you'll love her."

As she said this, the Twi'lek affectionately stroked her impressively long and thick mane, beckoning her to the chair nearest them. Rani sat down and plopped into the chair, her curls bouncing with the effort.

"I'll finish your hair first, and then… who's the maid of honor?"

"Carina," all the girls said in unison, taking her by the wrist and sitting her down into the chair beside Rani. The Twi'lek stroked her chin thoughtfully, nodding to herself as she appraised Carina's hair.

"I'll do you next. But first, the bride."

"Of course. Take your time," Carina volunteered.

Igrayne, Evy, and Rika relaxed under the hot tube lights of the ceiling, plopping into the three remaining seats down the long line of mirrors. As Igrayne and Evy began gleefully swinging around in circles on the seats, gaining speed with each thrust of their feet, Rika fixed them both with a slightly disapproving stare.

"Igrayne, such behavior hardly befits a Jedi."

"Oh, lighten up just a little," Evy said, tossing her long blonde waves over her shoulder in protest. "It's a joyous day and a happy occasion; let's all try to be a little more respectful of that."

Rika was reduced to whispered murmurs that none of them could hear—nor did they want to. They were too caught up in the moment to have noticed or cared that most of her cold demeanor was directed toward her fellow Jedi charges.

"How would you like your hair fixed today?" Brenna asked from her position behind Rani's chair. She rolled over a small table with tools that almost resembled a surgical array of instruments, though in reality it was only a comb, two brushes, some hot rollers, and several clips.

"I was thinking curly, with a little bit of body to it," Rani said, running a casual hand through the roots of her hair as she surveyed herself in the large mirror. "Something elegant, classy. Something that will make Carth's jaw drop."

"I can do elegant and classy," the Twi'lek volunteered. Then she dug her fingertips into her scalp, lifting her hair upward from the roots. "You've got great, thick hair to work with. How about something like this, with a side part?"

She swept it upward and to the side. Rani bit her lip, indicative of her hesitation.

"You're right," the Twi'lek said. "Maybe all the way back with no part."

"That's more along the lines of what I was thinking. Style away!"

The Twi'lek began by setting her hair in hot rollers, then sprayed each individual tendril with a can to set the hair, repeating the process several more times. It was clear from the time it was taking that they would be here quite a while, so Igrayne turned to Evy with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"So, get any action last night?"

"Igrayne! That's none of your business."

"From the way your heels were clacking toward his room last night, I think it was _everybody's_business."

Igrayne recalled the muffled sounds of passion flooding into her subconscious somewhere between sleep and wakefulness early that morning, but she couldn't entirely be sure that wasn't fabricated by her dream-mind.

"Well, it's nothing I care to discuss."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite."

Igrayne furrowed her brow but said no more, realizing that by delving deeper, she was only angering Evy the more. Instead, she turned her attention to the wall-mounted holovision, which was alight with a recent news flash. On its surface was a sentient being whose face she remembered well: senatorial candidate Kevan Sir'takk and his running mate Juniel D'abo, a friend and colleague whom he had met—according to a political biography she had read of him—while working as a liaison between humans and Iridonians.

Kevan had not changed in the least; though he had gained a little weight in the face, he was still the same Zabrak, through and through. The other being was more of a mystery to her. She'd had to piece together snippets of information from what she'd read while following Kevan's campaign on Coruscant. A seemingly wise and noble Zabrak of good breeding and from a distinguished family, Juniel's lifted nose and high cheekbones hinted at an aristocratic air.

The holovision streamed footage of the two side by side before returning to a busty blonde newswoman who was clearly reading from cue cards off-screen. She announced in an annoyingly trilling, breathy voice that Kevan and Juniel were due to make a personal visit to Telos IV to attend the wedding of his dear friends, Carth Onasi and Rani Taraster.

"I didn't know they were coming to the wedding!" Igrayne exclaimed.

"Me either!" Evy replied.

The newswoman concluded with a comment that seemed to indicate much of the public's cynicism toward the pair's alleged status as "heroes" of the Republic. Once the holovision returned to commercials, Igrayne looked away with disgust.

"Wow, public opinion about Mr.—and the soon-to-be-Mrs.—Onasi isn't very good, it would appear. It's sinful how they don't get any privacy in their lives."

"They're both very high-profile; it comes with the territory, you know," Evy responded. "And what are you complaining about anyway? We're all under the microscope now."

Igrayne shook her head.

"Not me. I've managed to evade scrutiny by staying in the Jedi Temple, which was probably the smartest decision I've ever made in my life… and that's not saying much."

An inner pain gripped her as memories of her betrayal, the abortion, and Bao-Dur's death came vividly back into her mind. She felt as though she would vomit the moment the old wound began materializing. So she used her mental suture and stitched it shut again, holding it at bay for a little while longer at least, no matter how hard it strained against the seams. This was Rani's big day, and she didn't want to ruin it with her own problems.

She was vaguely aware of Brenna calling for Carina and asking her how she wanted her hair styled, the emerald-eyed woman instructing her to keep it simple like Rani's, and the ceaseless sound of Evy's uneasy breathing echoing in her ears. She gripped the armrests of her chair, spinning it around to face the mirror and being shocked to find a face so hollow she hardly recognized it. How long had it been since she'd eaten a decent meal, slept a full night's sleep without so much as a nightmare? Being on Telos was beginning to unravel the inner peace she had sought for so long to establish.

"Are you okay, Igrayne?" Evy asked, noting her change in demeanor.

"Yeah, and you?"

"Yeah…"

"Let's get some music in here!" Rani said, jumping up from the seat to display a full head of uniformly-placed curlers. The sight was so hilarious that it reduced the other girls to laughter, and Rani went with it by making a hilarious bunch of kissy faces.

"Do ya think I'm sexy?" she purred, striking a pose as she showed off her curler-filled head.

"Ooh, baby, baby!" Evy trilled in response.

"Carth's gonna want him a piece of that!" Igrayne teased as the other girls continued to hoot and holler. Brenna merely responded with an eye-roll as she continued to style Carina's hair despite the fact the young woman was flipping about excitedly in her seat, desperately wanting to be part of the action.

"Head forward… _please!_" Her hand guided Carina's head tersely back into place.

Rani continued her sexy strut across the room and toward a small subspace radio device. She flicked it on and began surfing through the channels—an obnoxious, grunting Gamorrean opera station; a lift tube music-styled station; and then a smooth Quenk jazz station. At each flick of the knob, the girls voiced their disdain. Finally, she landed on a leap jump station—a brand of loud, rhythmic music popular among the city's youth—and the girls were appeased. They voiced their appreciation in loud whoops and claps, and Igrayne and Evy got up and began dancing as stupidly as their bodies would allow just to amuse the other three. Igrayne held her nose and did the swim while Evy engaged in some sort of tribal-looking dance, reducing even the stodgy Rika to a fit of laughter.

"You are making this incredibly difficult for me," Brenna said with both hands planted on her hips as Carina was forced to turn around and watch the joviality once again.

She lifted both her hands up and said, "Sorry, sorry," before turning back around into place.

"Just _stay still_!"

In the background, the girls continued dancing ridiculously until they completely tired themselves out with their exertions. As soon as the song ended, Rani flicked off the knob and collapsed into the nearest chair.

"Whew, quite a workout!"

"Gotta save some of that energy for Carth," Evy teased, an impish grin on her elfin features.

"Don't you know it," Rani replied with a wink.

Carina soon rejoined them with a full head of curlers, allowing Evy to take her place in the stylist's chair. Igrayne suppressed a laugh and went over to hold both her cheeks in her palms.

"You look gorgeous, dahhhhling."

"Thanks. I feel kind of stupid with this much metal in my head."

"Well, you'll be able to pick up any channel on holovision, that's for sure."

Carina seemed nettled by something, though Igrayne didn't have to do much prodding to find out.

"Do you think Mical will like it? It's just… I haven't seen him in so long and I want to look good. You know? Like a whole new Carina."

"Knowing Mical, he'll _love_it."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"Thanks, Igrayne."

"No problem."

The two women embraced, and Igrayne stroked a loose tendril out of the other woman's face protectively. She couldn't help but be proud of how far Carina had come since the taint on her life given by the dark side had been lifted. She was virtually back to the old friend she had known for years, though there was no doubt in her mind she bore a great many regrets about the past that lay behind her and misgivings about the future to which she often looked.

The Twi'lek wrestled with taming Evy's wild curls and getting them under control for many long minutes, but finally, after a long struggle, her tresses were trapped in large rollers that perched atop her head, and Rani looked to Rika.

"Rika, how are you wearing your hair? Up or down?"

"I was gonna wear it just like this," she replied, tugging at the thick braid behind her back.

"No you're not. Come on, get in the seat. Let Brenna style your hair."

"I'd rather not, thanks."

"Please, Rika; it would make me so happy," Rani said with a plaintive whine that indicated to Rika she was only the latest in a long line of human "projects" the once senator-hopeful had undertaken.

"You can even go before me," Igrayne volunteered. "Come on, Rika."

"No, I just wouldn't feel comfortable," she reiterated, looking extremely ill at ease.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I just… A Jedi is supposed to crave not things that pander to one's own vanity."

"Oh, that's such a load of crap and you know it," Carina shouted from across the room. "If that was true, how do you explain that gorgeous dress?"

"Come on, you're getting your hair done," Rani interjected, guiding her by the shoulders into the empty seat where Brenna had set up her workstation. The woman grumblingly acquiesced; it was clear she was at a disadvantage since there were four of them and only one of her. She sat there, stoic as a Zabrak in the face of pain, while Brenna proceeded to unbind her coarse hair and comb through it with her fingers. Igrayne thought she never saw such a funny sight as Rika sitting there getting her hair styled—much to her chagrin. Surely she had been subjected to such "unpleasantries" as the daughter of a banker on Iziz? It was only recently that she had become a Jedi, so her rejection of all things worldly seemed to strike Igrayne as unconscionably odd.

Rani turned on the holovision again and flipped through the stations before landing on a game-show channel. The four girls sat down beneath it, watching the game unfold with snarky remarks and feigned interest while they provided their own dubbed rendition of events. As they ridiculously mouthed sentiments ranging from the merely naughty to the downright obscene, Rika plugged her ears to the best of her ability.

Moments later, she vacated her seat with a head full of curlers, and Igrayne quickly sat down. Brenna's experienced hands undid the topknot, letting the tangled mass of brown drape down over her shoulders.

"What do you want done?"

"I was thinking something half-up and half-down."

"Curly or not?"

"More wavy, like what the other girls are doing."

"Certainly."

"I trust you; you're the pro here!" she joked.

Igrayne almost drifted to sleep at Brenna's expert touch; her hands moved from her hair follicles at the top of her head all the way down to the split ends she had neglected to trim for months on end, working their magic.

"You have such a beautiful, thick head of hair!" the Twi'lek enthused as she began pinning sections into curlers.

"Back home we used to call it 'the dreaded Calaris hair'—if that gives you any indication of how much my sister and I hated it."

"Calaris?"

With a breath of hesitation, she realized her mistake in revealing that detail. It was too late, however; the damage had already been done.

"My surname. I don't go by it anymore, and I haven't for a long time. Brings back too many memories I'd rather forget…"

Brenna nodded silently while she continued to work.

In the corner of the room, the girls were busily talking about something mundane that she couldn't hear; even Rika had joined the conversation, so there was no danger of them having overheard her. No matter how many times the subject of Kuat came tumbling back into her life, she was always there, ready to put down the fires of curiosity before they started to spread. Perhaps it was because living so dangerously had caused her to conduct her life with caution, or perhaps it was because that part of her existence seemed to have taken place in a former life so far removed from the here and now. Whatever it was, Igrayne wasn't keen to bring it up again any time soon.

With a spray of product to set the hair, Brenna finished up and called over Rani to complete the process of styling her hair. Although it took only a few moments to finish up, Rani's hairstyle begged otherwise; the ornate curls cascaded down over her shoulders like a chestnut brown waterfall in all its resplendent glory.

"You're so gorgeous! Oh, my Force!" Carina explained, unable to tear her eyes away.

"I'm almost there. I still need to get my 'face' on when I get back to the apartment."

"And let's not forget your dress," Carina chimed in.

"That too."

"You look stunning, Rani. Your hair is so elegant. I love the loose waves!" Igrayne exclaimed.

"She looks like a doll, doesn't she? Just absolutely gorgeous," Evy agreed.

"Thanks, girls!"

Brenna finished styling the other girls over the next thirty minutes, her work growing faster and faster before culmination. As the five of them stood there surveying their reflections in the mirror, they were taken aback by the level of detail and precision in Brenna's work, and how she had almost parlayed her skill with a brush into an art form. All of them wore their hair loose and in waves, and though they looked to be matching, each style was individual to the girl who wore it. Igrayne's dark hair was gathered half up and half down into impressive waves; Carina's bangs and fringe framed the sides of her face while the rest of her locks erupted into sharp, exaggerated curls, giving her an air of sophistication; Evy's blonde mane was gathered into a fancy ponytail with tendrils hanging free and grazing her shoulders, some loose about her ears; Rika's hair had been pulled into a purposely messy, wavy bun and secured at the back with bobby pins; and Rani's hair hung in loose, romantic curls.

"I love how our styles are all similar but different," Evy said, moving her head from side to side to admire the long, elegant ponytail.

"Kind of like us," Carina noted with a smile. The four friends hugged before Rani paid Brenna for her services and they left the joint.

"Time to go home and get our makeup on!" Rani said excitedly.

As the rest of the girls skipped ahead almost gleefully, Igrayne hung back, feeling slightly sorrowful at the thought of what lay ahead. Dealing with Dustil was not an idea she savored too much, especially with how they had last parted ways on Dantooine. She'd had a lot to deal with then and was understandably cool and distant, and this had driven him from her, as she'd intended. But with no Bao-Dur to stand between them now, would the dynamics of their relationship at last change, as she knew Dustil had often secretly wished?

"Only time will tell," she whispered into the emptiness as she followed behind the four women.

* * *

><p>It was not long before the five women reached Carth and Rani's apartment in the residential module of Citadel Station. Excited chatter filled the air as both Evy and Rani lunged for the brown settee in the center of the room that comfortably seated four. The two remaining spaces were taken up by Igrayne and Carina, who squished tight long enough for Rika to snap a picture of the four of them together with an adorably pocket-sized camera. A blinding flash of light completely engulfed the room for a mere moment. Their smiles remained in place long enough for the picture to be taken, and then were discarded with surprising ease. Already it was two hours until showtime, and empty stomachs were the only thing on their minds.<p>

"Let's order some bantha burgers," Igrayne suggested.

"I know a little place down the street that makes great burgers," Rani replied. "Let's com ahead and place an order."

"Do they have any vegetarian options?" Evy asked, looking slightly worried.

"Yeah, they actually make a mean plate of Orange Montra fruit and Draka nuts. I usually have it when my stomach's upset and I can't eat too heavily."

"Sounds delicious."

"Okay, let me go contact the restaurant. You girls just sit and make yourselves comfortable."

The delicate pattern of her footfall could scarcely be heard, even in the silence. When she had snuck away into the next room, Igrayne looked to the others, gently brushing a stubborn strand of heavily lacquered hair from her eyes.

"We should get our faces on. The boys will be here in less than two hours to take us to the venue."

The mere mention of Dustil sent a shiver of anticipation through Igrayne's stomach, and as the knot began to tighten, depriving her of oxygen, she thought she would be sick. Food was suddenly the furthest thing from her mind, but the other girls seemed to be budding with excitement.

"I have some cosmetics I brought with me from my apartment," Evy said. "I can do your makeup for you girls if you want me to."

Just as they were murmuring their assent, Rani came bounding back into the room and plopped down on a nearby cushion, pulling her knees toward her Indian-style. Both hands were comfortably relaxed on her kneecaps as she watched Evy pull out an impressive case of makeup and begin working on Carina. She delved through the multi-tiered utility box, selected a vibrant forest green pigment, and painted her eyelids with it, using a supremely delicate touch. Igrayne supposed it was a trait she had learned as a nurse, and used to her advantage.

"When will the food be here?" Rika suddenly thought to ask, feeling distant from her position on a chair at the opposite side of the room. She had both legs crossed modestly and her palms folded neatly in her lap, looking, despite her best efforts, rather stodgy.

"Twenty minutes. They're sending a delivery boy down."

"You know what _that_means…" Carina said breathily, her eyes closed, her mouth slightly ajar as she submitted to Evy's practiced hand. The slow, methodical strokes brushed over her lids with velvet ease.

"Cut it out," Rani said with a giggle.

With a quick slick of sparkly lipgloss and a pinch of the cheeks, Carina was done. She practically skipped over to the only mirror in the room, located just off the small kitchenette. A high-pitched squeal of joy indicated to Evy that her makeup artistry was more than pleasing.

"You like it?"

"I love it! I can't wait for Mical to see me! You gave me some sexy, sultry bedroom eyes!"

"I did my best."

"It's great," Carina said, admiring her reflection as she presented first her right cheek and then her left in an effort to observe Evy's beautiful handiwork. A sprinkling of shimmery powder highlighted her sculpted cheekbones, accentuating her chiseled features even more than usual. The vibrant hue of the eyeshadow brought her emerald eyes to vivid life, sparkling like two embers in the blistering heat of the sun. The liquid mauve color on her lips enhanced the soft, pronounced curves with a reflective coating.

"Who's up next?"

"Why don't you do the bride?" Igrayne suggested.

"Good idea."

"Carina, let's go get dressed," she added.

"Okay."

The two girls ran into the bedroom with their dresses, which were still on embroidered hangars and bags with the shop's insignia imprinted on it. Rani had stored them in the main closet alongside her ornate wedding gown, so they had only gotten a peek at the opulent tulle-and-satin design before running off to begin the long process of dressing.

The bedroom that Carth and Rani shared was remarkably immaculate compared to the rest of the house. Although the kitchen seemed to indicate Rani's domestic responsibilities left a lot to be desired, there was nary a crumb or speck in sight as they ducked to enter the tiny sleeping quarters. Frilly pink and purple pillows and a similarly colored throw adorned the lavishly plush bed. At the bedside were two end tables, fittingly decorated with a number of pictures of Carth and Rani in various romantic clinches—thankfully, none of them obscene. Igrayne flipped the blinds to the panoramic window by the bedside, which offered an impressive view of the docking modules, which housed both incoming and outgoing starships.

"Wow, this place is crazy."

"It pays to be the fiancée of a high-ranking admiral, I guess."

"No kidding."

Igrayne went immediately to the bed and laid her dress out neatly along it, ironing both hands over the texture of the bag as Carina palmed the door. They soon were out of their everyday garments and in the floor-length pink dresses. As Carina struggled with the zipper of her gown, Igrayne offered a helping hand, ushering her toward the window for better light.

"Can you believe Rani's getting married? It feels like we've been talking about it forever, and it's finally here."

"I know," Igrayne said quietly, her concentration entirely upon the zipper. "You have an important part to play today."

"I couldn't feel more honored."

"You two have always had a special bond. I can't think of a better person standing beside her to witness the happiest day of her life," Igrayne said as the zipper clicked into place. She gathered both gossamer ends of the ribbon and tightened it about Carina's tiny waist. Turning her about by the shoulders, Igrayne smiled.

"Go look in the mirror."

Carina did as she was commanded, stooping to view her reflection in the vanity beside the 'fresher.

"Oh, wow! Again, mega props to Rani for choosing the color. Talk about good judgment! And the makeup just pulls the look all together!"

"I know. You look beautiful!"

"Well, what about you? You look pretty too, Igrayne!" Carina replied, turning suddenly to repay the compliment.

"Thanks. Zip me up?"

"Sure."

Moments later, Igrayne had taken her place at the large mirror and was staring with measured intensity at her own reflection, at the tired black eyes that gazed back at her through the glass. She thought for sure the mirror-being could sense her own deep-seated fears and anxieties and was laughing at her. Her usually hollow cheeks dimpled in an angelic—or was it demonic?—smile that seemed to mock her misfortune.

Glancing away quickly, Igrayne gripped both sides of the table to steady herself.

"Are you okay?"

"I just need a drink of water."

"Let's get you to the kitchen," Carina said soothingly, guiding her back into the room where Evy had almost finished with Rika. Rani stood nearby, her sun-kissed complexion dusted with a light bronze powder, chocolate brown eyes rimmed with black kohl that enhanced their mysterious allure. As she flipped her head back in dramatic fashion, both hands on her hips, she said, "Whaddya think?"

"Smokin'!" Carina chortled.

"Super hot," Igrayne agreed.

"You girls look beautiful, too! I still can't believe how well those dresses fit—like a glove!" Rani cried.

"I'm almost done here. Then it's time for Igrayne, and then I'll do my own makeup," Evy announced as she held the other woman's delicate chin balanced in the base of her palm. Her brush was carefully balanced along the lashline of her right eye, painting on a neutral color.

"You really didn't have to do this…" Rika began uncertainly.

"Nonsense! Rani wanted you to be all dolled up. Since it's her wedding day… what Rani wants, Rani gets."

"I like that philosophy," Rani agreed.

"Rani, what are you doing hanging around here? We need to get you in your wedding dress, like, pronto!" Carina said.

"All in good time."

"How much time do we really have left?" Carina asked, checking the wall chrono.

"A little more than an hour. Don't worry; we've got plenty of time," Rani replied.

"Wow, I've never seen you this casual before. Aren't you supposed to be, like, doubled over a toilet somewhere by now?"

"I'm fine, actually. No nervousness at all. I guess I sort of know that, whatever else happens, by the end of the day I'll still be Mrs. Onasi."

"Awww, so cute," Evy cut in, though her voice was shaking from the effort she poured into keeping her hand steady.

With a final slick of her expert brush, Rika's makeup was finished. The strong, bold earth tones Evy had used on her went a long way toward enhancing what she had without stepping too far over the invisible line imposed by the ever-present Jedi Code. Evy had deliberately chosen more modest colors to suit Rika's needs, and the dark-haired Jedi seemed doubly appreciative of this as she moved to the cushion beside her and glanced in the little compact Evy had handy.

"Igrayne, you're up next. Sit."

Evy's forefinger tapped downward to the empty cushion at her knees. Igrayne slid near, pushing her super-stiff hair over her shoulders. She thought she heard a crunch as her hands made contact with the sprayed-down strands, and then realized that her hair wasn't going anywhere—over the shoulders or otherwise. Evy selected a cool, pale palette of colors and began working on her. The tickle of the brush in every crevice of her eyelids sent a delicious shiver down Igrayne's spine, though it was hardly what she would call pleasurable. Evy stopped mid-way through to slap some rouge on either cheek, using her thumb to blend it down to barely more than a rosy glow. She then swabbed at the base of the lashes with liner before giving her a generous coat of mascara on each almond-shaped eye.

"So, amazingly, I don't think I've ever asked you… where are you holding the wedding?" Carina said.

"Well, I don't think you guys know this, but in your absence, Carth sort of helped me start this little organization that helps raise funds for the Ithorians and their effort to restore Telos. I mean, after what happened with my candidacy, there was pretty much no chance of my running for senator again."

"It's such a shame. You would've been great at politics," Igrayne said. "Think of all the change you could've brought to this Force-forsaken planet."

"I know, I know. Believe me, I've often wondered what things would be like if they hadn't gone the way they did. But, well… I've gotten a bit off topic, haven't I? Anyway, Chodo Habat was kind enough to offer the use of the Vivarium. It is considered a great honor among the Ithorians, and I accepted his offer with pleasure."

"Wow, that place is beautiful," Carina agreed. "I remember going there once before when I was on Telos. It was like a self-contained natural park, and all the plants were incredibly well-tended. They had just begun growing the rare Bachani plant when I visited, and they all seemed to be incredibly excited about it."

"Yes, it is very important to them, which is why they let so few people in to the Vivarium. They are planning on introducing the Bachani plant to Telos when the new restoration effort begins again. So for them to allow an entire wedding party on the premises is extremely rare and unusual. There's always the risk of us damaging the plants… but Chodo was extremely generous and merely said that any friend of ours was a friend of the Ithorians. He believes that because we have shown them respect, those we associate with will be respectful of their culture as well."

"Wow, that's an incredible amount of trust he's placing in your hands," Igrayne said. "You'd better not tell him that Tren is coming as well, or he might have second thoughts."

Rani nudged her playfully, bursting into laughter. But before she could respond, the door indicator rang.

"Food's here!"

She pushed herself up from her knees, bare feet skidding along the carpeted floor as she came to a grinding halt before the door. She answered the door, paid for the food, and sent the delivery boy on his way with a doubly generous tip. Palming the door shut behind her, she slid the food across the small divan at the end of the couch.

"Eat up!"

They doled out plates, forks, and knives, making their selections from the small open box. The scent of fresh meat steamed into the air, flooding their nostrils with a delicious aroma. Evy winced and pinched her nose.

"Can't you girls take that somewhere else? It's making me sick!"

"Here, eat your fruit and nuts," Carina teased, shoving her plate toward her.

"Ha ha, very funny!"

Evy finished with a slick of violet gel color to Igrayne's eyelids and then a little lilac-tinged lipgloss. After putting aside her cosmetics, she settled down for some much-needed grub. The only other sound was the smacking of the lipgloss as the girls attempted to navigate the burgers into their mouth without disturbing Evy's careful handiwork. The result was quite comical; Igrayne's mouth wrenched wide open, her eyes bulging as she prepared to devour the huge slab of meat; Carina's head dropped backward as she lowered a cut-off portion of her burger into her mouth and then closed her lips about it, chewing hungrily; Rika smiled as much as possible, trying to keep her lips from smacking against her teeth and smudging makeup everywhere; Rani, unsurprisingly, abandoned all pretense of trying to eat it delicately and instead dug in, ravaging the sandwich with reckless abandon. Evy watched them all, laughing, as she plopped pieces of fruit easily into her mouth.

"You guys are hysterical. I want to take a picture."

"No!" Carina screamed, throwing the burger aside.

"Awww, fine, I won't. You just looked so funny."

It took them another few minutes to finish eating, and then Evy reclaimed her cosmetic set for a quick makeup job on herself—pale shimmery sea foam green shadow on her lids, cherubic pink cheeks, and a pale lip. Evy then claimed Rani's bedroom for her own purpose of dressing, emerging moments later in her pale, chiffon-like gown that floated down around her petite body. Rika smoothed both hands over her royal blue wrap dress, wondering briefly if she wasn't dressy enough, though Rani seemed to in no way indicate this.

"Your turn!" Carina said, both hands shoving Rani by the back into her room. All three of the girls followed her in, leaving poor Rika standing behind to hold their clutches. Igrayne snatched the wedding gown from the closet, flattening it against the bed as Rani stripped down to her undergarments without trying to disrupt her curls.

"How are we doing this?" she suddenly thought to ask, both arms flying over her chest semi modestly as she became aware that three other people's gazes were upon her. She suddenly felt very uncharacteristically bashful, naked, and exposed. She supposed if it weren't such a surgical procedure, it would be a different story entirely.

"Step into it," Igrayne suggested, pointing to the ground.

"Okay."

Carina removed the dress from the bag and almost gasped. The attention to detail on the bodice of the strapless gown was simply breathtaking. Custom-tailored to Rani's specifications, the champagne-colored dress was a work of art; every single bit of material was completely encrusted in beads, which made it both heavy and incredibly luminescent, even in the poorly-lit bedroom. The tiered skirt was pulled to one side in a sweeping motion, causing a mini waterfall fold in the fabric. To complete the look, a line of satin buttons decorated the back of the intricate bodice, capped off with diamond-like beads at the center.

"Oh, my Force!" Carina gasped.

"Isn't it beautiful? I had it special-made at that little shop I took you girls too. It came in a week ago. I couldn't wait to show you all!"

"Beautiful doesn't quite describe it," Evy interrupted.

"Exquisite is more like it," Igrayne added.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get me into this thing!"

Carina let the material float to the floor, keeping a firm grip on it as the weight of the rustling beads dragged it down. Rani stepped gingerly inside of it, lifting both arms above her head as the girls pulled the material up to her bustline and secured it in back. Carina did the honors of zipping her up, fastening the buttons, and then fluffing the skirt. She then located the veil—which also hung on the hangar—and draped it over Rani's eyes, securing it in place with a comb.

"Wow…"

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Rani asked with a devilish smirk.

"And what would that be?"

"Ahem."

She cleared her throat while presenting one bare leg, just visible behind the layers and layers of fabric.

"Oh, right!"

Carina grabbed for the shoes and garter Rani had brought into the room with her, pulling the slinky blue piece up her leg before letting her take it the rest of the way up. Rani was happy to oblige, setting it into place on her thigh with an almost devious wink. Then she slipped her feet into the heels and opened her arms as if to exclaim "tah-dah!"

"I don't think I've ever seen a hotter bride!" Evy said.

"She looks incredible," Carina commented.

"Beautiful and timeless," Igrayne replied.

"I'm going to cry," Carina said, her nose and eyes getting all red.

"Oh no," Rani replied, fanning herself as Carina's display of emotion touched her to her core. "No, stop. Don't get me started."

Pretty soon, the two women were both tearing up, leaving Igrayne and Evy to tend to the comforting. Before long, Igrayne said, "The boys will be here soon. Let's get her back out into the other room. Someone get ready to open the door."

"I'll do it, I'll do it!" Evy clamored, wanting desperately to be of help. Busying herself with things to do helped take her mind off Atton and the almost imperceptible bulge in her stomach that she dreaded was more than the result of a little overeating.

"Okay. Evy, you get the door. Carina, you get the back of Rani's dress. Remember, train duties are all yours today."

"I can't wait!" she said genuinely, scooping up the generous mounds of fabric that extended beyond her feet.

Rika smiled upon seeing Rani exit the room, despite the fact she was red-nosed and apparently crying. The Jedi woman nodded her head reverently and said, "Many blessings on your marriage, Rani."

"Thank you."

"Here, would you mind holding the clutches?" Carina asked, shoving four or five of them into Rika's hands as she dug through the box of bouquets and handed each one to the other girls. Rika had no choice but to accept the clutches thrust upon her, though she did so without complaint, stuffing two under one arm and the other two under the other arm.

The door indicator rang to inform them someone was at the door. Evy ran forward to palm it open. As the door slide back to reveal a very dapper Dustil and Tren, both wearing custom-made all-black suits with matching boutonnières in their lapels, Evy elicited a cry of delight.

"Look at you two! Boy, you sure do clean up well!"

"I could say the same for you, kitten," Tren replied with a wink, looking her up and down. As his eyes landed upon his sister, his mouth simply fell open with an almost inaudible "wow." Dustil nudged him to say something else, so he simply walked in, wrapped his arms around her warmly, and kissed her cheek.

"You look… amazing."

He spun her around once, giving her a little twirl to showcase the dress—but also to annoy Carina, who had to do a quick 360 to ensure the hem of Rani's dress was not at all tangled.

"I just don't know what to say."

"Thank you," Rani replied, her lips pressed together as she grinned widely. The Taraster siblings embraced once more before acknowledging the others. Dustil still stood in the doorframe, the picture of casual cool, one arm holding the bulk of his weight, face cleanly shaved and looking very smooth and suave. Igrayne felt her throat go dry as she glanced over at him. _This_… was Dustil? The last time she had seen him, he'd been an impertinent little punk who had been out to prove something, but now he was undeniably and inarguably sexy. His dark eyes blazed with lustful intensity as he looked at her, and she recognized in his glance the same emotion she had sensed that night aboard Destrik's ship, when she'd almost given in to her desire to touch him, satisfy him. Igrayne was fairly sure he could feel the excited heat given off by her body, so she sidled away from him to disguise this, hanging her head semi shamefully.

"Igrayne."

"Dustil."

"Been a while."

She nodded but said nothing. Dustil used the uncomfortable moment to go and great Rani with a hug—which seemed to take her by surprise as Dustil was never the demonstrative sort. She reciprocated, her hands curling about his strong shoulders before releasing him once.

"You look great," he told her.

"Thank you, as do you." Her hand clutched at her stomach, feeling suddenly deprived of oxygen. "How is Carth?"

"A bundle of nerves."

She laughed.

"But otherwise okay."

"Good, good. Should we get going?"

"Yes, we don't have much time to make it to the Vivarium."

"Allow me," Tren said, offering his sister his arm to escort her to the chapel. As the other bridesmaids followed out, Tren explaining to them that their groomsmen would meet them at the entrance to the Vivarium shortly before the ceremony commenced, Igrayne lagged behind, waiting for Dustil to move. But he did not budge. After Rika left with the clutches, they were in the room alone together. Igrayne felt the heat rise to her cheeks as Dustil extended his arm nobly to her, ever the gentleman.

"Shall we?"

Without so much as uttering a noise, Igrayne slipped her tiny arm into his, gripping hold tentatively. They walked stiffly through the halls behind the rest of the group, their steps dragging a little due to the sudden clumsiness Igrayne seemed to have inherited. As they went along their way, she swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat and tried to clear her mind of all thought.

It was going to be a long day…


	6. Arrival at the Venue

The _clack-clack_ of pilot boots echoed through the _Blade_'s hallways, alerting Vhis to the imminent arrival of one of her customers. She was absorbed in her work, tinkering with the ship's inner workings: wires, fuel lines, and other various technologies. While most saw the confusing tangle as a hopeless maze, a guaranteed failure, the mechanic saw the anatomy of a living, breathing creature; she saw its veins, its blood, and its organs, and that it required what all other living creatures required: care.

"We're going to a wedding today," began a notably female voice.

Vhis' gaze did not leave her work. "I thought so. I think I remember us talking about that."

"You can come if you want. I mean, we haven't asked Rani or Carth or anyone, but I'm sure they won't mind." Vhis looked from her work to Indy, who seemed on the verge of a long-winded, nervous babble. "They're really nice you know; I'm sure you'd like them! I'll bet the wedding is going to be beautiful. Rani has great taste, and it's being held in the Ithorian Vivarium. It's closed off to the public and it's a huge honor just to be invited! Carth is an admiral too, you know, not many people get to go to an admiral's wedding! I—"

"You're sure I wouldn't be intruding?" Vhis interrupted warily. "I mean, I'd really like to go, but if it's going to be awkward..."

"Of course not!" Indy exclaimed happily. "We're leaving in a few hours if you want to get ready!"

She gave the mechanic one last smile before returning to her quarters and left the pilot to her work.

* * *

><p>The trio of explorers met in the common room sometime later, fully prepared for the party. Indy's dress was long, red, and exposed her bare shoulders. She had let her hair down for once; it fell glamorously around her face in large, loose curls. Han dressed to match his date in a crisp, black suit and a red bow tie. Vhis chose a knee-length, strapless dress in a bright yellow, with black strappy sandals to complete her look. She had coaxed her hair into tight curls which fell to her shoulders and had straightened her bangs so they settled into a sharp line above her eyes.<p>

Smiles and nods of approval were exchanged among the three. Han took Indy's arm and, with Vhis trailing close behind, they left the ship, headed for the Ithorian Vivarium.

* * *

><p>"You gonna eat that, kiddo?"<p>

"Huh, what?" Cilla was deeply lost in thought.

"You gonna eat that?" Jack gulped and the wedge of food in his cheek diminished slightly. He waved in the direction of Cilla's plate, drawing figure eights in the air with his fork.

"Ah, no, I guess not." Cilla pushed her plate away into the center of the table. Jack stabbed it with his fork and dragged it toward him.

"For not having any suitcases, you got a helluva lot of baggage."

Cilla crinkled her nose and looked at her lap. "Nuh uh," she mumbled.

"Yeah, huh." Jack swallowed another ball of cheek food. He leaned back in his chair and wiped his greasy lips across the sleeve of his forearm. "You haven't said how you're finding the ship." Cilla remained glowering into her lap. "Well, I guess you'll get your fill of her soon enough. When you're finished here you can start some chores. Amy'll think something up for you." Cilla stood and started to turn away. Jack shot out of his chair and pushed her back down into her seat. "You haven't been excused yet."

Cilla stared at him, her algae-colored eyes narrowing to slits of hot anger. She tried to stand again, but Jack's hand on her head pushed her firmly back down. She squirmed beneath it but only succeeded in cocking her head to one side. She whimpered, more from frustration than pain, and kicked her legs in a clumsy arc, trying to connect with his shin. Jack pressed down harder and Cilla and her chair toppled to the side. She propped herself up on one elbow and glared at him, half under the table. Jack picked up her chair and slid it into place; Cilla had to slide out of its way.

"Go look for Amy and ask her how you can be a helpful little girl. Don't make me tell you again." Jack strode from the mess hall without looking over his shoulder. He flicked the lights off and left Cilla to her murderous thoughts. Her eyes seemed to glow a little brighter.

* * *

><p>The mottled dust settled on the tarmac as the consular-class cruiser eased itself down cautiously. From inside the forward viewport, Kevan Sir'takk watched as the buildings below came into view, populating the previously vacant horizon line that had, moments before, resembled an endless dark abyss. The return to Citadel Station was bittersweet, tinged with regret and sorrow, and he was dreading the reunion that awaited him at the end of the platform.<p>

"Relax a little," his beautiful running-mate, Juniel D'abo, said from beside him, surveying her reflection in a small compact she kept for pre-camera touch-ups during the gubernatorial races. Satisfied with the image that stared back at her, she snapped the compact shut and turned to look at him. "I can see the tension in your shoulders. You never get like this… not even on camera."

"I am much more at ease on camera," Kevan replied, his eyes focused upon the blinking lights of the city outside. "The cue cards help me to organize my thoughts and feelings when I am communicating with my audience. I have enough time to prepare beforehand."

"You've had a two-hour flight to prepare for this."

"It's not nearly enough time."

Juniel gently teased the ends of the long, thick black ponytail emerging from the back of her scalp amid the labyrinthine cresting of mini-horns. Though frowned upon by many clans—in particular those who viewed the growing of hair as an affront to the Iridonian culture—Juniel had insisted on cultivating her personal appearance from the moment she set foot in his office. Employing a large army of stylists, make-up artists, and personal shoppers had further earned her the dubious nickname of "The Credit Monger of Coruscant," a title Kevan had been hard-pressed to dispel, even with his top-notch PR team. What Juniel lacked in political savvy, however, she made up for in ambition—and more than enough of it. Her fresh new ideas and hip, colloquial manner of speaking were certain to give voice to the long repressed Iridonian public were they ever to win coveted seats in the Senate.

Kevan exhaled, watching Juniel primp for a moment longer. Her chocolate brown tattoos ran in dizzying spirals over her neck, face, and arms, complementing her dusty rose shade of skin well. Her red, cat-like eyes extended into angular lines that streaked up toward her brow bone, further accentuating her decidedly feline features. It helped to have a running-mate who looked like her. While Kevan acted as the mouthpiece for their podium, she brought in the ratings.

"You look fine."

Ignoring him completely, Juniel twisted up a small tube of reddish-purple lipstick and began dabbing her lips, smacking them back and forth to smooth the color out more evenly.

"I know there's gonna be holo-cams aplenty the minute we step outside. I just don't want to be caught unaware. The holonews says I don't take a bad picture; might as well not give them a reason to renege on that declaration, huh?"

"You worry too much about your appearance."

"Somebody has to be the eye candy. And let's face it, Kevan, you're a good-looking guy and all, but…"

"I lack breasts."

"Precisely."

She patted her hair down again, shaking her generous mane with one sweep of the head. As the engine came to a thundering halt and the smoke dispelled, Kevan could see that Juniel's prediction had come true: whoever knew they were coming had tipped off the media as well.

The proliferation of paparazzi holo-cams and hungry, celebrity-centric tabloids accompanied them wherever they went, but that didn't mean he had ever quite adjusted to the pace of life as an A-lister. Having his life dissected as though under a microscope was the part of the job he hated most, though knowing he had the potential to make a difference far outweighed the cons.

"Thank goodness we just beefed up our security team, huh?" Juniel asked, rising from her seat to stretch her legs and ostensibly fix her garments—a one-piece shiny white jumpsuit that hugged every curve of her body from toe to shoulder. Bending over, she slowed her movements, her hands traveling sensually up her sides and into her hair. Her actions were, of course, another obliging photo op for the hungry reporters, who crowded outside the tiny cabin windows to snap away in a blinding flash of light.

"A little modesty would greatly benefit you," Kevan instructed her, his features suddenly looking gruff and disapproving.

"What's there to be modest about?" she asked in all honesty, one hip jutted out to the side.

"I mean it. This is Admiral Onasi and his fiancée's day; let's not do anything to ruin it."

A moment later, the two Gamorrean thugs he'd hired as bodyguards came ambling into the ship to gather up their luggage. As soon as Juniel and Kevan had prepared themselves for their grand exit, the vessel door opened amid a crushing crowd determined to muscle their way through to the two politicos. The gelatinous slime-covered creatures parted the crowd almost effortlessly, paving a way for Kevan and Juniel to walk through. Somewhere within earshot, Kevan could hear his campaign manager shouting, "Move aside! Move aside! Clear the way! I _said_get back!"

His arm snuck around Juniel's shoulders protectively, steering her straight toward where their security guard was walking. As they filtered through a private access road, the Gamorrean bringing up the rear activated a Force field behind him, stranding the rest of the paparazzi on the platform.

One irritated reporter shouted, "Come on! We need our money shot of the golden duo!"

"You'll have to take it up with the local law enforcement, I'm afraid," Kevan's bespectacled humanoid campaign manager, Denil Neady, said from behind the reaches of the purple Force field, staring gleefully back at the awestruck crowd through the blazing violet light. "They've shut down every block from here to the Ithorian Compound in an effort to maintain Mr. Sir'takk and Ms. D'abo's privacy. So kindly take your overpaid, overworked asses over to Czerka and cover a real news story for a change. Why have they remained mum on the recent isolated attacks in Coruscant? There's your story."

"Nice language. Would you like me to quote you on that?" the snippy reporter trilled.

"Feel free. Gentlemen, as always, it was a pleasure," Denil said, arms outstretched as he waved goodbye to the masses.

Scooting ahead to where Kevan and Juniel were walking, he ran a hand through his messy brown hair and said, "You can thank me later."

"Right now we need you to get us to the Ithorian Compound as quickly as possible," Kevan said. "The ceremony's due to start in ten minutes."

"They don't call me Speedy Neady for nothin'," he said with a crooked smile. Then, calling ahead to the Gamorrean guards, "Pick up the pace, for Force's sake!"

* * *

><p>The journey to the venue was mercifully short, seeing as how Rani's nerves were already frayed from months of planning, waiting, and dreaming. Just as Dustil, Tren, and the five women arrived outside the relatively secluded offices of Chodo Habat, they were greeted by a bevy of reporters anxious for a personal comment on her exclusive nuptials. Holocams were on hand to catch the action firsthand as the wedding party made their way past the flurry of activity in Citadel Station's residential module. Blinding pulses of light fired in all directions as the soon-to-be Mrs. Onasi rounded the corner.<p>

"Disgraced former senator-turned exonerated Republic hero Rani Taraster to wed Admiral Carth Onasi at Citadel Station today. More on this story as it develops," a vapid young newscaster spoke into the camera as the crowd raised a cheer.

"Miss Taraster!" an overeager man—just visible among the crush of people—barked in her direction. "Miss Taraster! Any comment about the recent allegations of your involvement in the attack on Telos—and the suggestion that the Jedi Council helped clear your name of the charges?"

"She's not taking any questions," Dustil growled, barely giving him a glance as he passed by, an arm about Rani's shoulders as Carina did her best to shield the woman from view with a strategically held cloak.

"You her new PR man?"

"I'm her future stepson, and I said she's _not_taking any questions," he repeated, his voice taking on a gruff edge. The authority in his tone caused the rest of the reporters to back off as well, and as the wedding party passed, the crowd parted for them like water. Igrayne made a mental note to thank him later for his soft-spoken assertiveness—if only because he had allowed his fiercely protective instincts to ensure Rani's safety.

The main greeting area of the Ithorian compound had been cordoned off for temporary use as the bride's room—and the guests diverted to the rear entrance, out of which soft, tranquil music was now pulsing. As Dustil deftly smuggled Rani through the door before any of the amassing crowd could get a proper glimpse of her, the beaming bride giggled. Carina stood close beside, her arms still spreading out the cloak so that no one could see beyond it. Evy, Rika, and Igrayne filed in through the door behind her, Igrayne stopping to palm the door shut and afford them some privacy.

"I should probably go see how Father is doing and get an ETA on the ceremony," Dustil said, releasing the shapely woman's arm. "Will you be all right here without my assistance?"

"Let me think…" Carina said, tapping her chin in thought. "We've taken on Sith lords, bounty hunters, and some of the most vile scum of the galaxy… You truly doubt we can handle ourselves against a few nosy reporters?"

The corners of Dustil's mouth tipped up in response.

"_Ladies_. Come on, Tren."

He used his shoulder to muscle past the three bridesmaids, locking eyes with Igrayne in the process. Tren followed close behind. A cacophony of noise flooded the room and then settled as the door drew shut once again in his absence.

* * *

><p>Dustil and Tren entered the groom's room, which was inexplicably empty. Dustil had expected to at least find his father there, waiting for the ceremony to begin. He stared helplessly at his chrono. It was six seconds since the last time he'd checked it. He looked back to his reflection in the full length mirror. He exhaled slowly… another second down, maybe two. He adjusted his already straight tie. He checked his chrono. Was the ticking always this loud? He looked around him, the room was vast. Vast and dreary. His chrono clicked at him with rhythmic disapproval. Dustil adjusted his tie. It was then that the door adjacent to him hissed open, and in walked the groom-to-be.<p>

Dustil released a very relieved-sounding sigh.

"It's about time. You were starting to worry me."

Carth wore a distinguished suit and bow tie and a white boutonniere that had been matched to the exact shade of Rani's gown. He seemed to be trying to steady himself with deep breaths. Tren worked to

"Are you all right? Do you need me to bring you a glass of water?"

"No, I'm fine."

A smile tipped the corners of his son's lips.

"Are you ready to become Mr. Rani Taraster?" Tren asked comically, looking like he was about to burst into laughter. Carth merely fixed him with an unamused stare.

"Come on… your bride awaits," Dustil said.

He extended a hand to his father which Carth grasped firmly. The two men smiled at one another. It had taken Dustil a long time to come to terms with his feelings about Rani and her relationship with his father, but he had accepted her at last.

That made Carth happy.

"Tren, can you go check on the girls and make sure they're ready to go?"

"Sure… I know my place," the dark-haired young man said before exiting the room.

* * *

><p>As soon as Dustil had gone, a breathless sigh escaped Rani's lips with surprising intensity. She and the other girls had escaped to the bride's room for some last-minute touch-ups.<p>

"Oh, my Force. This dress feels so tight and my head's spinning."

"Perhaps you should sit down. You look a little woozy," Carina suggested, running to find her a chair. She delved behind the reception desk, her search rewarded a few moments later when she wheeled out a stool and kicked it in Rani's direction. The exasperated bride ripped the veil from her head and collapsed onto the stool with a goggle-eyed expression.

"Can I get you anything, dear? Some water, perhaps?" Carina volunteered, running to her side to grab hold of one conspicuously clammy hand.

"Water… would be nice," Rani said in between jagged breaths.

"Everything's going to be fine," Evy coached, bending to one knee in front of her. "Just take deep breaths. In through your nose and out through your mouth."

Rani did as instructed, knowing that to do otherwise would be certain punishment—from both her body's own limits and Evy's short temper.

"Try to inhale enough so that your lower abdomen rises and falls. The more exaggerated, the better," Evy said, indicating where she meant for her to concentrate her efforts with one hand poised on Rani's tummy.

Carina returned moments later with a glass of water, which she handed to Rani. Her hand curled about the cup and her head dipped back as she swallowed it at a gulp.

"Oh, thank you. That feels so good."

"Just breathe. You'll be all right," Evy reassured her.

"I don't know why I'm acting this way all of a sudden," Rani said, fanning herself.

"It's just nerves. It'll pass when you see your groom standing at the other end of the altar waiting for you," Carina told her. "Force, can you imagine what Carth is going through right now? And he's had way more practice than you…"

"You're right. I'm just being silly. Everything will be fine. At the end of the day, I'll still be Mrs. Rani Onasi." She paused, a hand flying up to cover her mouth almost as soon as the words had escaped it. "Wow, I… I just never realized how amazing that sounds. Mrs. Rani Onasi."

"Get used to it, sweetie. You're going to be writing it on every piece of stationary from here to Coruscant," Igrayne joked.

"What do you want me to do with these bags?" Rika asked sourly, displaying her fingers like tree branches, each of which held a particularly tantalizing bejeweled parcel. As she waggled her fingers, Igrayne rolled her shoulders in a lazy shrug.

"Just hold onto them for now, if you could. That'd help us out a lot."

Whatever reply the Jedi was going to supply her with wasn't going to be pleasant. Igrayne could discern that from the wrinkle of Rika's brow as she retained her grip upon the four little bags, looking entirely put out—for what it was worth. But before she could speak her mind, the door behind them swished open, and out walked Tren.

Rani smiled and then collected her brother to her in a loving hug. She buried her face in his neck, resisting the urge to weep and mess up all of her carefully applied makeup. The clock was ticking down to the moment she would walk down the aisle and become Mrs. Onasi forever. Just holding Tren and feeling his comforting arms around her now was assurance enough that this would be the best decision of her life.

When the embrace ended, the two siblings clasped hands.

"Are you ready, sis?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"Let's do this."

* * *

><p>The expansive room was rife with the sickly sweet odors of exotic plants in bloom, plants which provided a fun, frivolous burst of color to the otherwise drab compound. Lush trees and shrubs of every variety populated the four corners of the room, while the main area had been cleared out to accommodate all the guests. Long metallic benches had been brought in—in anticipation of an extra large turnout—until every available space of inch was occupied. An airy synth melody floated over the serene backdrop, harmonized warmly by the vocal stylings of a female singer who stood front and center at the altar. The ceremony's officiant, a Telosian holy man garbed in vestments of white, red, and violet, stood alongside her, patiently awaiting the couple's arrival.<p>

The room was filled to capacity, with nary a spare seat to be had anywhere. Retainers, soldiers, politicians, and friends from a previous life had turned out in droves to witness the high-profile nuptials of Rani and Carth. Visible among the crush of guests were Kevan, Juniel, and Denil Neady as well as other notable figures that drew whispers and stares from the star-struck onlookers. Rika had crept in to the back row and looked positively miserable at the prospect of having to sit through such a long and meaningful ceremony. Han and Indy arrived just in time to nab the seats that had been reserved for them, though Vhis was relegated to the "standing room only" crowd cluttered against the far wall. Frustrated, the mechanic shifted weight in her uncomfortably tall high heels, realizing she had indeed picked the wrong day to be fashionable.

A jaunty melody heralded the arrival of Carth and Dustil. Outfitted in a smart suit that was fitted superbly to his exact measurements, Carth looked the picture of happiness and pride. As the groom and best man made their way steadily down the altar to the strains of the processional song, naught could be heard save for the sporadic clicking of holocams, several of which perched in the air alongside their owners.

Next to enter was a beaming Evy, her arm clutching at a properly-groomed Atton for support as she donned her best smile for the occasion. The lanky man loped along beside her as she gathered her cumbersome skirts in her hands and proceeded toward the altar, leaving room for Igrayne and Mical to begin walking. As the petite brunette Jedi locked arms with the handsome doctor—who had shaven just in time for the wedding, much to Rani's pleasure—her mind was filled with remorse over her loss, and his absence was made all the more painful by the presence of so many familiar faces. These wayward thoughts were put to rest the moment her eyes settled on the well-dressed Dustil, who was staring intently at her from his position at the altar. Igrayne ignored what she perceived as judgmental stares from the onlookers and gave Mical's arm a squeeze as they walked in companionable silence. She had no doubt his thoughts were wholly focused on the woman who now stood behind them.

Carina entered with complete poise and assurance, as if she had been born for this moment. Her pink chiffon gown fluttered as she walked, pooling about her long, athletic legs. As she drew nearer the altar, Dustil abandoned his position to go and meet her halfway. The maid of honor and best man locked arms and began the long march up the altar in step with one another. As they came before Carth, all eyes cast toward the entrance, where the bride was due to make her appearance.

A slight change in the music's melody signified Rani's arrival. The entire congregation rose as she entered arm in arm with Trentyn, their steps matching the electronic rhythms beat for beat. Carth's eyes widened as they beheld his beloved, clad in a heavily beaded gown that stunned from every angle. The striking pearl and rhinestone detail was put on full display as a single beam of light set fire to the whole ensemble. Carth momentarily forgot to breathe, then had to remind himself to do so when she had almost reached his side.

He drew the deepest, longest breath he had ever taken and silently willed his nerves to be calm. As if in obedience to his wishes, the nausea in the pit of his stomach disappeared.

Tren reached his side and, placing Rani's manicured hand into his soon-to-be brother-in-law's, said, "She's all yours, Republic."

Carth smiled.


	7. The Ceremony and Reception

The leaves of the fragrantly flowering bachani plant caught the light and glistened about the makeshift altar, where Carth and Rani were now kneeling. Their hands had been joined together with a small piece of cloth before the Telosian civil clergy who had been called in to officiate the ceremony.

Through all the long service, neither the bride nor the groom raised their head; even when the congregation began to sing on a command from the clergyman, the couple remained stoic and respectful, completely focused on the import of the moment.

The man began his sermon with a quiet, calm voice.

"We are gathered here today to witness the joining of Admiral Carth Onasi and Rani Taraster in marriage. This state is not to be entered into lightly. Forever will you be two joined as one, together always. The Force has brought you together and the Force will bind you eternally; in mind, soul, strength, and love. As the grass of the fields and the trees of the forest bend together under the pressures of the storm, so too must you both bend when the wind blows strong. But know that as quickly as the storm comes, so equally may it leave. Yet will you both stand strong in each other's strength. As you give love, so will you receive strength. Together you are one; apart you are as nothing. "Know that no two people can be exactly alike; no more can any two people fit together perfectly in every way," he continued. "There will be times when it will seem hard to give and to love. But then see your reflection as in a pool of water; when the image you see looks angered and sad, then it is time for you to smile and to love, for fire does not extinguish fire. In return, the image will smile and love. Aggression and anger are of the dark side; exchange anger for love and aggression for joy. It is no weakness to admit a wrong; more is it a strength and a sign of wisdom."

At last, it came time for the exchanging of the vows. The clergyman bid both Carth and Rani to rise, which they did, and turn toward one another. Carefully, the man read from a datapad, asking them to answer in the affirmative once he had done speaking.

"Do you, Rani Taraster, take Carth Onasi to be your husband, and do you promise before these witnesses that you will be a true and devoted partner? In forces of darkness and forces of light, wherever you may go and whatever you may face, do you promise to share your life in marriage with him?"

"I do," Rani's gentle voice replied, as quiet as a whisper. Carth slipped the ring onto her finger.

The man turned toward Carth and looked down his nose at him. His mottled skin seemed to hint at his wizened age as his trembling hands struggled to hold the datapad aloft.

"Do you, Carth Onasi, take Rani Taraster to be your wife, and do you promise before these witnesses that you will be a true and devoted partner? In forces of darkness and forces of light, wherever you may go and whatever you may face, do you promise to share your life in marriage with her?"

"I do," Carth said, both hands clasped together before him in military style. There was not a twinge of fear in his voice. Rani took his callused hand in her own and slipped the ring onto his finger.

The man cleared his throat and prepared to project.

"Rani Taraster and Carth Onasi have consented together in marriage. They have pledged their faith in each other as witnessed before us. They have promised to be truthful and devoted to each other."

He turned back toward the couple. "I now bind you in soul, strength, love, and the Force. In the name of the Maker, I now pronounce you husband and wife; may the force be with you."

A resounding cheer rose from the crowd before the clergyman added, "You may kiss the bride."

Her veil had been pulled gently over her face. With steady hands, Carth lifted the veil to expose Rani's tear-glistened face. Her eyes were two limpid pools of loveliness, her hair a cascading crown of chocolate curls. In that moment, she never looked more beautiful.

Carth was more than happy to close the distance between their waiting lips. His arms came around her in a tight clinch—tight enough to draw her right up against his broad chest. Her palms slid up his chest as she melted into him, their lips devouring each other almost instantly. Her hands knotted in his hair. Their fervor was so honest, so pure, that it incited the congregants to applaud even louder.

When they finally drew apart, the clergyman added, "It gives me great pleasure to present Mr. and Mrs. Carth Onasi…"

The admiral and his bride clasped hands and turned to face the congregation, lifting their linked arms into the air almost victoriously as they ran down the center aisle through the shower of velvety flower petals flung at them from every corner. The wedding party—made up of Carina, Dustil, Igrayne, Evy, Mical, and Tren—followed close behind.

* * *

><p>The reception was no modest affair. No expense had been spared, as evidenced by the elaborate set-up in the dining hall of the spare apartment complex on Citadel Station. Three long tables—which flanked the far wall—were draped with an expensive white cloth and groaned under the weight of costly but delicious food of all kinds. At the head of the center table sat Rani and Carth, with Carina and Dustil seated to either side of them and the rest of the wedding party near. Twenty smaller round tables filled the room. Floating candles encased in translucent crystal bubbles hovered over the center table, casting a metallic sheen over all the flatware. A coruscating golden protocol droid stood nearby, ready to assist with any of the guests' special needs.<p>

At the center of the room, a band was performing a variety of songs in the style of aubade, glitz, jizz, and jatz. The group, which was comprised of a bubbly teenaged Twi'lek in sparkly silver hotpants, two Bothan backup singers, a human horn player, and a Rodian on the drums, filled the room with songs both old and new. Their supercharged energy, killer riffs, and ironic lyrics made them an all-around crowd pleaser. Guests crammed into the small pit in front of the dais where they were performing, and they swayed in time to the electronic rhythms.

The reception was already in full swing by the time Dustil left his seat and stepped onto the dais, taking the microphone from the young Twi'lek as the rest of the band members cleared the area. The guests in the reception hall dropped into a respectful silence as the best man began to speak.

"Welcome, everyone," he said, unrolling a prepared statement from his arm cuff. He looked very debonair with his hair slicked back and his stubble neatly trimmed—very put together. Igrayne watched from her seat in between Carina and Evy, wondering how he would fare as far as speech-making was concerned.

"I am honored you could join us all today for this special occasion. You know, my father has been threatening to find me a new mother for a while now… I just never realized he was serious."

The joke met with uncomfortable silence and a few scattered half-hearted laughs. Dustil continued, looking slightly disheartened by the reception.

"He's a smart guy, my father. When I was younger, he used to sit me on his knee and tell me the difference between an unmarried bachelor and a husband. Before marriage, he'd say, a man will lie awake all night thinking about something his wife has said; and after marriage, he'll fall asleep before she finishes saying it."

Carth guffawed a little, nodding his head as Rani glanced sidelong, one eyebrow raised. Immediately, Carth sobered up, eyes darting to and fro, and then he reached for his drink to look busy.

"Okay…" Dustil said. Then, shuffling through his notes, he gave up altogether and decided to improvise, stuffing the notes back into his cuff. "Those of you who know me know that the relationship I have with my father hasn't always been the smoothest. At times, we were at each other's throats…" He locked eyes with Rani, who suppressed a smile. "But throughout it all, this woman right here, to the left of me, has remained the one constant in my father's life. She really brought us closer together and made us realize how important the bonds of family are. And for that I am forever indebted to her."

Touched, Rani reached out and gave Dustil's hand a squeeze. When the touch ended, her stepson continued with his speech, looking nonplused.

"I know my father and her are very much in love and will have many happy years together. I would like to tell them both that it was a special honor for me to be asked to be a part of this incredible day for them both. I—and the rest of the wedding party—would like to propose a toast to the happy couple and wish them both the best."

His hand captured the glass of champagne that had been poured on the table and lifted it. All of the guests mimicked him, raising their glasses together heartily.

"To Mr. and Mrs. Onasi. May they enjoy years upon years of blissful happiness."

A cacophony of noise filtered through the room as all of the glasses clinked together with a satisfying melodic sound. The band resumed playing, their songs drawing most of the audience back to the dance floor. At the head table, Carth cupped his wife's face in his hands and kissed her deeply, barely cognizant of the attention their affection was drawing from the onlookers.

Igrayne stood and went to refill her cup from a nearby self-serve punch bowl. The music was loud—she was drowning in her own thoughts—and so she almost toppled over when a hand tapped her on the shoulder. Surprised, she spun about to see Dustil there. He was holding the ladle from the punch bowl and refilling her cup before she could even get two words out.

"So how did I do?" he said with a smirk.

"I wouldn't have figured you for a comedian."

"Cute."

"It was touching," she admitted in complete and total honesty. It felt refreshing to be able to speak so frankly with him.

"Was it worthy of a best man speech?"

"It came from the heart. That's all that matters. Rani and Carth loved it. You did really well."

She continued to sip at her cup, but before she had finished, Dustil said, "If the bottom of that cup gets dry, then it's not a party!" He flicked his hands in the air to alert one of the protocol droids, who ambled over with a pitcher of alcohol. The droid was leaning over just beginning to pour the drink when Igrayne shook her head.

"Thank you, no. I should refrain."

"What, can't have a little alcohol at a wedding?"

"I shouldn't. I'm a Jedi, and I'm under surveillance."

A strategic nod of the head indicated Rika Skye, who was seated beside a heavy-set man at one of the tables. The man seemed to be engaging her in a rather lengthy conversation. From the looks of things, Rika was thoroughly enjoying herself.

"Not too heavily, thankfully. Come on," Dustil said, again giving the order for the droid to fill her cup. This time she couldn't say no; she imbibed the intoxicating green spirit—which was sweet, with just a little hint of spice.

"Mmm, that's delicious."

"I told you you'd like it. Come on… dance with me."

"Here?" Igrayne asked, sounding paranoid.

"Where else?"

Looking around, she rubbed her arm and pretended to look more interested in her drink than she actually was. "I don't dance."

"I call bull. I know you've got some moves I haven't seen yet," he said seductively, his voice softer and more sensual.

"Dustil, I…"

"Come on."

Although she thought she couldn't be persuaded on to the dance floor, she was wrong. The pleading look in Dustil's eyes made her resolve weaken and her knees buckle. She was already feeling a little light-headed, although she couldn't tell if it was from the wine or from his proximity.

She took his hand and allowed him to lead her through the throng of gyrating bodies, which were pulsing in time to the music. Wrapping both arms around Dustil's neck, she gazed up at him and smiled.

"It's a fast song."

"I want to slow dance," she said, her head pressed against his throat. She could feel his pulse through his skin. It gave her a tingly warm feeling inside, the way she felt whenever Bao-Dur had held her close. It had been so long since she'd known the warmth of a man's body in her bed. She pulled away momentarily to gaze up at him, her ebony eyes shining under the light of a thousand candles. An enigmatic smile played upon her lips.

"You've changed," he said after some thought. "I think a little time away did you well."

"I've grown up," Igrayne admitted. "And so have you."

"Oh, you noticed?"

"Yes."

Her arms tightened around his neck and she rested her head back against him, breathing in his intoxicating scent. She fluttered her tired eyes open; over his shoulder, she could spy the two Zabraks, Kevan and Juniel—and their armed security escort, who was also a Zabrak—standing near. The three of them wore majestic, floor-length robes that seemed to add an air of nobility to their presence there.

"Would you excuse me for a moment?" she asked Dustil, pulling away from him and gathering her pale dress in both hands. She held it up as she closed the distance between her and the Zabraks.

"Kevan," she said by way of greeting, "It is good to see you here, my friend. It has been too long."

"Igrayne," he said, clasping arms with her. The Zabrak Juniel looked unimpressed with her, but she greeted her with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

"It is nice to finally meet you," she said. "Any friend of Kevan's is a friend of mine."

"We are not _friends_; we are work colleagues," she corrected her.

"My mistake." Igrayne turned and looked to Kevan, a smile lighting her features. "How have you been? We haven't spoken since the… well… since what happened."

"It is good to see her looking so well," Kevan said with both arms crossed thoughtfully, nodding toward Carina. The effervescent young woman sat at the head table, busily talking to Evy. Both of the women were completely unaware of the attention. "The last time I saw her, she was not in a good state."

"She has come to terms with it, thankfully," Igrayne said.

"And you? You are doing well? I heard what happened to Bao-Dur."

The mere mention of his name made her blood run cold. Kevan was her last remaining link to that life, to her career as a soldier on Malachor V, to her romance with Bao-Dur. The reunion felt suddenly bittersweet, and she was sorry she had come.

"Yes, well… I'm fine." It was a struggle to keep her voice level as she spoke.

"He was a good man, a great technician, but his memory will live on in our hearts."

"There's no use crying about the past now. What's done is done."

She realized how cold her words sounded, though she hadn't meant them to. Kevan looked baffled but also seemed to sympathize with her pain.

"I won't keep you from your partner. Enjoy the dance," he said.

With a heavy heart, she returned to find Dustil drinking at the bar.

"Let's dance."

"Give me a minute. I'm just finishing my last…"

Before he could complete his sentence, she was pulling him by the collar on to the dance floor, where she began pulsating to the beat. Dustil struggled to keep the pace with her; it was as though she had kicked into overdrive.

"You okay?" he queried. "I thought you didn't like fast dances."

"I changed my mind."

She continued to twirl and spin, hoping to forget the past in a haze of flashing blue and red lights. Dustil grinded against her soft bottom, swaying his body to the music. She tangled one hand in his hair as his hard-on throbbed noticeably against the back of her leg.

* * *

><p>Evy had gone off to dance with Atton, leaving Carina alone to her thoughts. She didn't enjoy being alone, as it gave her ample time to ponder the many stares thrown in her direction. By accepting the role of maid of honor, she knew she would be putting herself in the spotlight again—which, judging by the way the guests received her, was not something she really wanted to do. It was her friend's special day, however, and Rani had asked her with such sincerity in her voice that she found herself hard-pressed to refuse her.<p>

So she had accepted, and shortly thereafter begun preparations. Thankfully she still had some loyal contacts she had called upon to arrange for some of the nicer decorations and the bridal suite. She knew she could only count on a scant few in these dark, dangerous times.

And then there was Mical.

Gazing at the handsome Coruscant-born groomsman who sat on the other side of the table, her heart was filled with childish flutters. He was engaged in some important discussion with Carth and had a very serious expression on his face. He still had that boyish exuberance—that infectious thirst for knowledge—but he had matured into a man worthy of her admiration in recent years.

When Rani first informed her she had invited Mical to the wedding, and then that she had arranged him to be her date, Carina was horrified. There were so many things still left unsaid between the two of them, but none of that seemed to matter anyway. Even as her date, Mical had spent little time with her all night. Which was a shame, really.

Her recent journey to New Holstice had brought many things into perspective; for one, her feelings for Mical. In their time apart, Mical had opened his own clinic where he helped ordinary people—good people—every day. She knew he derived a sense of fulfillment from his work, much more so than when he was a Jedi, a guardian of peace. She couldn't begrudge him that. After all, the Jedi had lied to her, betrayed her, caused her to question her own beliefs. Disappointment with the Order was a feeling she knew all too well, even though she remained with them.

Truthfully, she had hoped Rani's devious matchmaking might offer up the chance for the two of them to speak, to air their grievances to one another. Or, at the very least, to talk about the same Order that had caused them so much grief over the last few years. Rani had said it would be the perfect opportunity for them to start mending their relationship. Perhaps she could convince him to rejoin the Order as she had. But those were futile hopes.

"So are you going to sit here moping the rest of the night, or are you going to have some fun?" a musical voice asked from over her shoulder. Turning about, Carina grinned to see Tren standing there, his bow tie loosened, his jacket on the back of a nearby chair.

She was surprised to see Bastila was nowhere around. The last time she looked, Tren and Bastila were dancing on the floor somewhere. She was surprised the Jedi masters had even allowed for Bastila to attend the wedding. Although the haughty Jedi had kept much to herself, smiling proudly from the audience when Tren rewarded her with a wink as the wedding party exited the venue, the masters had kept a watchful eye on her after recent events.

"I thought you'd be asking Bastila to dance."

"Well, seeing as how she's otherwise occupied in the little girls' room at the moment, I thought I'd ask you."

"How gallant of you," Carina replied.

"I know, right? Sometimes I impress myself…"

"It's a sweet offer, Tren, but I'd rather sit this one out."

"Too busy pining after Blondie?"

"What?"

"I see the way you're looking at him with those puppy dog eyes of yours. Why don't you just go ask him to dance?"

"Don't be silly," she said, blushing and rubbing the back of her neck. Her green eyes darted furtively from side to side to see if anyone had actually heard him.

"Or you could devise a way to fall into his lap when you're walking by… _accidentally_, of course. That oughta get his attention!"

"You're incorrigible!" Carina complained.

"Yeah, well, if you need me, you know where to find me."

Tren hopped down the stairs and bounced into the crowd, jumping around ridiculously as Bastila entered the room and then stalked over toward him, seemingly unamused that he was making a spectacle of himself. Carina had to snort at his obnoxious display and at the redness of Bastila's face. She hadn't ever seen her turn _that_ shade of red before.

"Is this seat taken?"

Carina froze. She knew that soft, accented voice anywhere. Her heart leapt—an instinctive reaction and one that both excited and frightened her—as she turned to find Mical standing beside her. It seemed that despite all the time she'd spent away, how she felt about him had not diminished in the least. She briefly wondered if it was like that for him too, but she dismissed the thought almost instantaneously. She was a Jedi now. That was her life. He had been a large part of her past, but she wasn't sure if he could be a part of her present this time around.

"No. Please, sit."

The prim doctor sidled meekly into the chair and remained silent. His face contorted as though he searched for the proper words, but none came.

"Are you enjoying the reception?" Carina asked to break the silence.

"Yes, immensely. Although, frankly, I will be glad to return to my clinic when all this pomp and ceremony is over."

"I heard you opened one. How exciting for you."

"Yes. I share my practice with one other colleague, a Dr. Addum Tandra, who runs the ER division."

"I've heard of him. He's done some fascinating studies into the causes and cures of genetic diseases."

"I've assisted on many of those studies. I feel as though every day I am changing lives," Mical said, his face glowing with excitement. It was clear to see where his passions lay.

"You seem to be doing really well. I'm happy for you. The last time we parted, it was not on the best of terms."

"Indeed."

"And…" She took a deep breath and focused her thoughts. "I'm sorry if I caused you any pain in the past. It was never done deliberately. I'd like to start over, if you'll give me the chance."

Mical smiled and extended a hand.

"I am Mical. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

She took his hand and shook it.

"Carina."

"Carina. What a lovely name. Would you care to dance, Carina?"

"I'd love to."

And with that, the doctor and the Jedi set off for the dance floor.

* * *

><p>The band's music sounded both melancholy and merry. Bastila contemplated why this was as Tren's arms came around her, swaying with her in a primordial rhythm. Tren had shown her every courtesy from the moment she had arrived at Citadel Station; except for a few mishaps here and there, and a few minor annoyances, he'd been a perfect gentleman. In his arms she felt graceful, and her feet floated across the floor. Others begged a dance of her, but she didn't oblige any of them; she was sure she must have been glowing for them to even notice her.<p>

If she was, it was because of the old feelings Tren had stirred up inside of her. She had half-expected to find him up to his usual wanton ways, but she was surprised to find him quite the opposite. He had even pulled the chair out for her as she sat down to the head table that night.

She could get used to this new and improved Tren. With her luck, however, it was all a ruse to get her to throw caution to the wind. She wouldn't allow herself to fall for him again. That was easier said than done, though, when she was gazing so deeply and lovingly into his eyes.

"What are you thinking?"

She just _had_ to ask the question.

"I was just thinking how cute you get when your face is all scrunched up like a Kinrath pup."

And there it was. She knew the chivalrous act wouldn't last long.

"A Kinrath pup? I've gotten better compliments from Sith lords."

"I find _that_ hard to believe."

"You truly are insufferable," Bastila said, resting her chin on one of his broad shoulders. "How do you do it?"

"It's a gift, I guess."

"Or a curse?"

"Depends on how you look at it."

His arms tightened around her waist, drawing her closer to him.

"Trentyn Taraster… if your hands travel any further south…"

"Will you spank me?"

"I… I… oh, forget it!"

"Just keep on looking flustered, my little Jedi princess. You know I love it so."

Just seeing her sulky face was the highlight of the night for Tren.

* * *

><p>"So how was work, baby?" Atton queried his lover as his hands strayed from her waist and began working the skin at her hips in a suggestive manner. "You never told me."<p>

"Long and tiring."

"Sounds like you need a bit of stress relief," he said with an impish glint in his eye. The kiss he went in for was intended for her lips, but instead it landed on her cheek.

"Maybe later. Last night was about all the stress relief I could handle," she giggled. "Work was good." She struggled between wanting to tell him what happened and wanting to keep it a secret. Now was not the time or place. The easiest thing to do was just to gloss over it. "I had a little trouble with a patient, but it was resolved soon after."

"Good to hear. You seem happier now that you're working."

"I am. I like feeling useful, you know?"

"I can make you feel useful later, if you want," Atton said, his sexual aggression almost bowling Evy over. With the way the shimmery lights of the reception hall glittered down on her soft blonde waves, it was intoxicating just to be around her. He wanted to reach out and run his fingers through her hair, feel the warmth of her skin on his. But she looked like a picture-perfect porcelain doll—only to be ogled, never touched. It annoyed him at the same time as it fascinated him.

"I'm a little tired tonight. The wedding preparations took forever."

"But you seemed to have a good time."

"I did. It was a lovely day." She pursed her lips and gazed over toward the head table. "Doesn't Rani look beautiful in her gown?"

"Yeah, she admiral sure bagged himself a looker."

Her arms squeezed his shoulders affectionately.

"Don't you think I'd look pretty in a dress like that?"

"Well, yeah… I…"

For the first time that night, Atton was seemingly at a loss for words. Any talk of marriage, it seemed, shut him right up. Evy let out a frustrated sigh. Well, it was worth a shot! They had been doing so well lately, rebuilding their relationship after their narrow brush with death. Carth and Rani's romantic wedding had left her with marital longings of her own.

_All in due time_, she told herself. _All in due time_.

"Say, you want to get some grub? It looks like they're serving the main course," the smuggler said.

"Sure, I'm starved."

Hand in hand, they set out for the main table.

* * *

><p>The rhythmic, heavy beats pounded in Han Solo's skull as he skirted around a cluster of girls and pushed through a row of men. Indy and Vhis were in the middle of the dance floor, bopping about with the Jedi Rika Skye. The three women cut a pleasing figure among the rest of the dancers, flattered as they were by their choice of attire. Han would have been happy to dance with any one of them, but there was only one woman for him.<p>

"Is it just me or is this music way too loud?" he asked Indy. The woman had painstakingly applied makeup which beckoned his lips to hers, and her gown was such a nice change of pace from the usual casual duds she preferred that he couldn't prevent himself from imagining her in dozens of new—and naughty—ways.

"I'm sorry, was that a pick-up line? Han Solo, you can do much better than that, you old coot!"

"I'm not exactly senile or nothin', kid."

"Think you can keep up with me, old man?"

"I don't know, _can I_?"

"Let's see what you got!"

"Oooh, it's a dance off!" Vhis trilled, her voice almost breaking into a keen. The petite brunette seemed to find the interactions between her newfound friends quite entertaining. She nudged Rika when the two smugglers began breaking it down right there, trying to outdo one another with their flashy moves.

A small crowd had gathered around to watch them, and judging by the applause, the show they put on was well received. Any time Indy spun, Han spun faster, and when he kicked, she kicked higher. Their performance became so elaborate that soon they had the entire dance floor surrounding them and clapping in time to the pulsing beat. Even Carth and Rani had made their way down from the table to join in the applause.

Chants filled the air—some for Indy and some for Han. Encouraged by the support, both smugglers attempted some of their sexiest moves, jumping over each other as they did splits and spun around. Han's legs were like rubber as he spun, dropping to the floor and break dancing. He spun on his head and then his hands before flipping back onto his feet, posing with his arms crossed.

Indy wasn't about to let him have all the fun. She flailed her shapely legs and spun around, doing a split as the music boomed. The two of them stopped in a pose as they finished. The crowd cheered even louder at the display and then dispersed once the entertainment value had gone back down.

"So I'm pretty sure I just schooled you," Indy said with a satisfied smile.

"Think again, kid."

"I say we let Vhis and Rika decide who won this round."

"Sounds fair enough."

"What do you say, guys?"

"It's a tough call. What do you think?" the starship mechanic asked the Jedi. "I'd have to say Indy."

"Me too. Indy without a doubt."

Han stormed away in a fit of rage, leaving three very puzzled-looking ladies behind.

"Uh oh… somebody's not getting any tonight, and that somebody is _me_," Indy snarked.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear that," the prudish Rika said in response.

* * *

><p>Igrayne sat at the head table trying to ignore the necking that was going on two seats down from her. <em>Good for them<em>, she told herself, but she was secretly jealous. It must have been nice to have company. Carth and Rani were so well-suited for one another. She coveted the special bond they shared. She had once had something similar, but she chose to destroy it.

She took another sip from her cup. She had been feeling tipsy the last hour or so. She thought she had danced away all the alcohol she had consumed, but the foggy tingling in her fingers and head told her otherwise. She could only surmise she was completely drunk now. It was unbecoming of a Jedi, but she didn't care. Rika was away enjoying herself, so she didn't have to suffer her censure. It was painful enough having to see Kevan and Juniel and the third Zabrak standing nearby, to be constantly reminded of what she had lost.

Igrayne set her drink aside and got up from the table, grabbing her jeweled purse as she made for the door.

"You're leaving?" Rani had come up for air long enough to ask her plaintively.

"I'm just going outside for some air. I'll be right back," she lied, feeling guilty. She expected to have steadier footing, but she expected wrong. With shaking steps, she barely made it to the door. Before she palmed the lock, a hand was about her waist, supporting her weight.

She looked up, and through her blurred vision she was able to make out Dustil's face, looking concerned. She immediately slipped her free arm over his neck.

"It's you," she slurred. Her tongue felt heavy with drink, and she had difficulty putting two words together much less a coherent thought."

"Let's get you to bed. You've had a little too much to drink."

"No thanks to you," Igrayne said with a little giggle. She felt like she was five years old again. The world was spinning in beautiful colors and she felt wonderful. In fact, she hadn't felt this good in a _long_ time.

"Come on. Lean on me."

As they walked, she was barely aware of her surroundings. The burning agony in her head took precedence. Moments later, they had arrived back at her apartment in the residential module of Citadel Station. Dustil palmed the lock and the door slid open. Inside, the lights were dimmed, most of the illumination coming from a back-lit communication console. Igrayne found the willpower enough to flick on a light that would better irradiate the chamber. Dustil helped her over to a couch and sat her down.

"Take it easy."

A smile played on her lips.

"Here we are, alone at last. Isn't this what you wanted all along—you, me, alone in a room together?"

"Igrayne, I…"

"Don't you want me?"

Dustil's eyes widened slightly. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. This was so unlike the mild-mannered Igrayne he knew. With every fiber of his being, he wanted to reply, "More than you know." And why shouldn't he? She had made the offer, and he wasn't so honor-bound as to refuse her.

Or was he?

"I can't. You're drunk and…"

Igrayne looked upset.

"You'd regret it," he added. Part of him wanted to shake her and demand, "Why now? Why like this?" They had been presented with ample opportunities in the past, yet never once had she granted him his one desire.

Through sheer force of will, she managed to stand and put both arms around his neck. Her lips pressed passionately against his. Her tongue forced entry into his mouth. Despite the longing in her body, he had some self-control. He was reminded of his promise to Bao-Dur to protect her in his absence. He had to respect his wishes by _not_ taking advantage of her.

"Igrayne, you're making it very hard for me to say no."

"Then say yes," she whispered, nipping at his earlobe.

"Igrayne…"

"Say yes," she repeated, pulling him into another kiss.

Dustil wanted to give in very badly. For a moment he even wished that he was drunk too. At least then he wouldn't have to use good judgment. He pushed against her shoulders, but it was no use. The alcohol had created in her a desire for him and nothing was going to quench it. The way she was using her mouth was sinful. He wanted to feel those lips upon his, upon his body.

He could stand it no more. Pushing her forward on to the couch, his colossal resolve finally broke and he could no longer control himself. He wasn't sure even she knew what she was asking for when she begged him to sleep with her. She seemed surprised by the animalistic nature of his kisses, which she returned with what she thought was a great amount of fervor.

They couldn't undress each other fast enough after so much anticipation. She had been without a man's touch for months. Too long. And he, a passionate and virile young man, needed his outlet and needed it now. They moved from room to room, her hands on the buttons of his shirt, his on the zipper of her gown, lips still interlocked. Miraculously, they made it to her bedroom without even looking where they were going. By now, her gown was in a crumple down the hall and his shirt and tie were nowhere to be found.

She raked her nails over his exposed back, digging into his skin as he hoisted her up in his arms and over toward the bed. Ungently, he threw her down onto the bed and let his tongue rove over her bare body, tracing a pleasurable trail up and down her skin. Igrayne was already unbuckling his pants.

"Not so fast," he teased, his voice a breathy whisper.

"I've waited so long for this."

Her proclamation was all the prompting he needed. He slipped out of his pants and threw her against the bed, sheathing himself completely within the searing velvet of her flesh. The contact of their skin made both of them release a sigh of contentment. He kissed her like a starving man falling upon a feast. And then, together, they began a long and frenzied dance toward ecstasy.

* * *

><p>The night at the hotel was a wedding gift from Carina. She had registered the suite under her own name to provide a modicum of privacy for Carth and Rani and had even checked in for them. The concierge, a personal friend of Carina's, had surreptitiously escorted the bride and groom to the suite, and had advised them of the hospitality services available.<p>

The hotel she had arranged for their stay was the most luxurious—and one of the _only_—hotels on Citadel Station. Room service was available at all hours and provided customers with the most gourmet items to be found on any menu. The concierge promised to tell the wait staff to leave any items the newlyweds wished to have delivered on a tray outside the door if the "Do Not Disturb" sign was lit. After keying in the door entrance code, the concierge gave Carth her private comlink number, congratulated them, and left them alone.

Arm in arm, Carth and Rani strode toward the turbolifts that would take them to their bridal suite. She had taken off her shoes and was carrying them in one hand. With the other, she was holding Carth's hand. She just couldn't get enough of her new husband. She wanted to touch him all over. There would be time enough for that later, she thought with a private grin.

"It was a wonderful reception," Rani said. "Carina did an excellent job."

"She sure did."

"All the little finishing touches amazed me. She thought of everything!"

"So are you happy you picked her as your maid of honor?"

"I am so happy I did," Rani affirmed. "Do you think the others enjoyed themselves?"

"They were on their feet dancing almost the entire time, so I'd say so," Carth said with a whiskered smile.

"They were, weren't they! I hope Igrayne is all right. She left a bit early. I hope she's not sick. I think she drank a little too much."

"If I know Igrayne, she's probably sleeping it off back at her apartment."

"You're probably right."

"Speaking of sleeping," the admiral said, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper as he tugged Rani close, "Looks like we're not going to be doing a lot of that tonight, huh?"

"Behave yourself, Mr. Onasi," she said playfully.

"I have you to keep me in line now, don't I, Mrs. Onasi?"

"Mmm, I like the sound of that."

She melted into him with another kiss before the indicator for the turbolift rang. The doors swooshed open, and the happy couple rode it up to the fourth floor. They wandered through the winding maze of halls until locating their room—201 B.

The suite revealed an opulence unrivaled in the known galaxy. Polished wood chairs in the anteroom bore etchings of a myriad of sentient beings. The sitting room contained a leather sofa, two loungers, and a small dinette. The bedroom contained the largest size bed in existence, with a fluffy down blanket and a multitude of pillows. To one side of the room was a balcony, to the other an alcove providing access to the refresher. Tucked into the alcove was an antique vanity, its mirror framed with intricately carved wood.

Carth and Rani closed the door and embraced right in the center of the room. Their lips touched, and the kiss was soft and gentle. Somehow, it felt as though Rani's lips could not live without her husband's. This was truly the happiest day of her life, in every sense of the word.

"Would you like a drink?" Carth asked, striding over toward the dinette. Before she had replied in the affirmative, he had two glasses in his hand and was returning with the drinks.

"To us," he said.

"To us," she echoed, clinking her glass to his. The champagne bubbled in the glass flutes, and Rani lifted hers delicately to her lips and took a deep draught. When they both had finished their drinks, Carth cleared them and walked back toward her.

"Now, Mrs. Onasi, how would you like to join me in bed?"

"I would love nothing more, Mr. Onasi."

She went to him with a kiss and they moved surreptitiously toward the bedroom, disappearing into the shadows of the suite.

It truly was the happiest night of their lives.


	8. The Attack

Evy fumbled against the wall until her fingers found the light switch and flicked it on. As quick as the room was lit, it was dark again.

"Atton, what are you doing?"

"I'll show you." He spread a hand across her stomach and pulled her backward against his chest. With his other hand he brushed the golden strands of hair from the back of her neck. He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck, softly at first, then more forcefully, nipping her earlobes and lightly biting along her shoulders. Evy's arms broke out in soft goose bumps but she stood still, more enraptured by the presence of Atton than his kisses, by the warmth if his hand against her belly, the buttons of his shirt, reassuringly pronounced against her back. The height of him, the width of his chest, the scent of his breath, his hair, his skin.

"I love you." Her voice seemed to be coming from a long way off.

"I know," he murmured.

Something in that short phrase stirred Evy from her rapture. She stopped swaying against him and when she spoke, her voice was her own again.

"I said I love you."

"I heard you, babe."

She turned in his arms to look at him, his eyes shadows amongst shadows.

"I know." He was silent. "Why don't you ever say 'I love you'?"

"What? I do say that."

"Not without me saying it first. Not without prompting. You never surprise me with it."

"How can I surprise you if you already know? Stop being silly." He leaned his head in to kiss her again. Evy dipped her chin, moving her mouth away from his. "Don't be like that, babe. I love you. There, happy?"

"You shouldn't have to ask me that." Evy scraped his arms from around her and flicked the lights on. Atton's face was slack, hers hard. "You do know I'm not your schutta, right?"

"Force!" Spittle flew from Atton's lips. He wiped it from his chin with disgust, as though it were not his own.

"And before you ask, I'm not your maid or your mother –" She had been about to say she would be his friend, a lover when she could, and a nurse when he needed, but if not his friend first, then nothing else. But Atton spoke first.

"Well, shit, Evy, what else is there?"

Evy didn't pause to think if he was serious; she didn't need to know. Her hand shot out and slapped Atton across his jaw, below his ear. Without waiting for a reaction, without caring what it might be, Evy was out of the apartment and walking away down the hall. She was done waiting.

* * *

><p>Igrayne's lips felt raw and hot, but she kissed his jaw, his neck, his lips again and again. She turned her face to the side to kiss his arm, strong and sturdy beside her head. She could smell his cologne and sweat on her own skin and it made her want him as though for the first time. He lay between her legs and she brought them together behind his own then slid her legs higher up his body until her knees framed his chest. She could feel almost every muscle in this body, lean and chiseled.<p>

Dustil swung his arm around Igrayne's leg and brought it gently forward to rest on his shoulder, beside his face. He flicked his tongue into the soft cavity behind her knee. The sensation made Igrayne giggle and she realized she could honestly say that was a first for her; no one had ever licked the back of her knee before, not even Bao-Dur.

Bao-Dur.

The man's name came to her as though waking from a long sleep.

Dustil settled his full weight onto her. Igrayne took a breath, expecting the lusty satisfaction of pressure upon her chest that would make her gasp and pant for breath. But her breath came easily. She pulled Dustil tighter against and into her. But her arms and legs wrapped too easily around him. He was a boy still, in many ways, not the giant of a lover she knew and craved. She groaned, having to express something, and shifted beneath him.

Dustil pushed himself up above her, panting with effort and control.

Igrayne turned onto her front, shoving the pillows from the bed to lay her face flat. Dustil's hands—they were so soft still, she thought, not even the hands of a man yet—slipped between her thighs and guided her legs apart. Igrayne felt she had to groan again, but at last pleasure was usurping frustration.

Dustil felt stronger within her, energized and forceful. This was the feeling she had craved for so long. She shut her eyes against all the world and let pure sensation fill her and drown her. She heard Dustil's voice, unusually soft and sweet, but it was not the voice she had heard in her dreams, so she closed her eyes to Dustil too.

Dustil looked down at the woman beneath him, complex and fragile, but filled with a courageousness that staggered him. He felt guided by the thought of her and let that thought drown him.

"Igrayne…"

Igrayne grew ravenous with pleasures she had not felt since _before_. Her thoughts were barely her own as long dormant memories danced across her skin.

"Igrayne, I lu…"

She whispered, but it was loud as thunder.

"Bao-Dur."

* * *

><p>"You didn't have to see me to my door, but thank you," Carina said in a whisper, afraid that speaking too loud would awaken the enchanted dream of that evening.<p>

"Would you rather I hadn't?" Mical took a small step closer to her. He thought that with anyone else, he would have been able to inhale their perfume as though it were a love potion. But not Carina—austere, practical, magical Carina. He took half a step closer and thought that with anyone else, he'd need a love potion.

"I'll be perfectly safe. I can protect myself, in case you weren't sure."

"Oh, I never doubted, but, ah…" He leaned into her, his breath brushing the wispy hairs that shrouded her neck and ear. "I think we're being followed."

Carina caught his eye and tried to stifle a smile. Together, they shifted their gaze down the dim hallway. Just far enough to be out of ear shot, but only just, Rika waited. She looked like a cat stalking its prey—a house cat watching the free birds dance and sing far away outside.

Carina leaned her head forward in Rika's direction, which brought her lips closer to Mical's. "Oh, her. She's not so bad, Doctor."

"Oh?"

"She's my chaperone, though. So we'll have to be quiet."

Carina pushed the door open behind her and slid inside. A whisper of the touch of her hand on his was all Mical needed to follow.

The door to the world slid shut behind them, complicit in its stealth. The room was dark, apart from a slash of tepid blue light from a billboard beyond Carina's window. The light dusted her face, splitting it into two halves, one dark and one light. Mical looked at her, her eyes deep and distant. He wondered which Carina really lived behind the shadows of her shadows.

She took a step out of the dark and into his arms.

The room flooded with light. Searing white pulsed with crimson, beating so intensely all other colors were lost. Carina gasped and Mical brought his hand up to shield his eyes.

WHITE.  
>RED.<br>WHITE.  
>RED.<br>WHITE.

There was just time for Mical's eyes to find Carina's before the room was dark again. There was fear in them.

A robotic scream tore the room apart. It gurgled then hissed then passed into a devastating whine before either of them realized it was the central loud speaker system, the one only used in acute emergencies.

Without conscious will, Carina moved to the window, barely aware that Mical, and suddenly Rika too, were beside her. The window offered dizzying views upon the station's main thoroughfare. She pressed her forehead against the pane and stared down.

There were already crowds of people gathering below them and all external lights had been switched on, giving the apartment an unreal, half-night half-day feel. There was a brief series of puffs coming from the main speaker system, as though the person behind it was unsure of how to use it. Then the blare of a man's voice erupted, its volume rippling off every surface of the station.

"This is an alert. This is not a test. This is an alert. A Sith transport ship—" There was another torturous whine, then the voice returned. It sounded out of breath. "Sith ships, I think, _we _think military ships, are currently reported to be orbiting Coruscant. No. Within Coruscant's atmosphere."

There was a moment of silence which made Carina think the man was speaking to someone or listening to something else.

"Do, do not be alarmed and remain calm… What? Oh, oh no! _Oh__ Force__ no_…"

In response, glaring orange warning lights began to flash in hurried rhythm, within her room and without. They were the lights Carina had prayed never to witness again. They meant "under attack."

* * *

><p>Igrayne slipped the discarded lilac gown up over her curvaceous frame, wiggling into it without even glancing over her shoulder. Behind her, Dustil sat with his back propped against the ornate headboard, one pillow cradled beneath two muscular arms. He was staring at some imperceptible point in space, his jaw set in that familiar lock. It was easier not to face him while getting dressed. This way, at least, she wouldn't have to further her embarrassment.<p>

For some reason—for some seemingly _inexplicable_ reason—she had said the wrong name while locked in the throes of passion. She had thought it would be easy to keep her wandering thoughts and fantasies in check using the distractions of the present. But the memories of him were as much a part of her as the fingers of her own hands. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to banish him from her thoughts altogether.

At that moment, she couldn't get Bao-Dur out of her mind. Her eyes had been closed during their lovemaking, enjoying the pleasurable friction between Dustil's body and hers, when all of a sudden, she had let out a low, sultry groan with the Zabrak's name on her tongue. It took Dustil a few moments to process what she had said; he was, after all, a bit preoccupied.

He had stopped mid-thrust seconds after climaxing to brush some black hair out of his eyes, his chest heaving from the exertion, his eyes narrowed in frustration.

"What was that?"

She tried to explain it away, but the damage had been done. Now she found herself dithering about in the dark, trying in vain to collect the remnants of her hastily stripped garments. She hoped that by doing so, he would be encouraged to do the same. Still he sat there with that blank look on his face.

Igrayne wanted to scream.

Thankfully, Dustil broke his silence. He attempted a sneer, but it made him look defeated and weak, as though he was doing his level best to guard against heartbreak. The contents of Igrayne's stomach shifted ever so slightly in response.

"Well, that was… _interesting_."

"Let's just forget this whole thing ever happened."

"Are you sure you can do that? You seem to have a pretty hard time forgetting things. Except my name, of course."

She felt the blush creep up into her cheeks and attempted to shield her face from him, bracing one hand against her temples. She was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but knowing Dustil, their argument would be a long, drawn-out affair. One she didn't quite have the stomach for right now.

"And you're so perfect?"

"At least I know who I'm inside of when I'm in bed."

His words made her wince. She suddenly felt even more ashamed of herself than she previously had been. Leave it to Dustil to twist the nail a little deeper.

"Look… I… I'm sorry."

_Sorry_ seemed like such an inadequate word in light of what had happened, but she truly meant it. She really liked Dustil; he was good-looking, well-educated, and came from a respectable pedigree. But he wasn't Bao-Dur. Her heart—and apparently her mind—wouldn't let her settle for anything but him.

"I'll just go. You can stay here if you want; I'll room with Carina."

"Don't bother. I'm leaving."

As he was saying this, he was already pulling on his suit pants and tying his bowtie with brisk, purposeful movements. He had his back turned toward her and refused to meet her eyes. She could only imagine how embarrassing it must have been for _him_.

With a snap, he flipped his suit jacket over one shoulder and strode toward the door, punching in a few digits to unlock it. The door swished open and, just before leaving, he turned about and stared her squarely in the eyes. The gaze held her rapt.

"You once told me, a long time ago, that love was complicated. Now I can see you were right."

His foot was almost in the module corridor when the whole floor beneath them shook with the resounding shudder of the emergency alarms being activated. Blaringly loud sirens flared in the distance, punctuating the silence between them, while intense red and white flashes of light filled the corridor. Clasping both hands over her ears, Igrayne could barely make out what the woman was saying.

"…An alert… Not a test… Sith transport ship…"

Though the exact words were lost on her, she had heard enough to spring immediately into action. Pushing past the door, Igrayne ran back into the bedroom and reached beneath the bed for the lightsaber she had hidden on the carpet. The small clutch carrying a few of her personal items still lay across the bedstand, where she had flung it, and she picked it up too, running toward the door where Dustil—remarkably—stood waiting for her.

The emergency sirens had momentarily dissolved the tension between them. Now they were in survival mode. Dustil helped her out of the apartment and guided her to navigate the dissipating corridors of the module, which were exploding in magnificent plumes of blue and black smoke. Igrayne dodged flying debris using her attuned Jedi senses and commanded Dustil to do similarly whenever she sensed he was in harm's way. The corridor was a veritable battleground, with shells from a mortar being fired at them from considerable elevation. The scene was pure chaos; people ran frantically back and forth, trying to dodge the floating particles that were everywhere around them. Smoke filled their lungs as they breathed in the polluted air. It seemed everywhere they looked was smoke.

"Quickly!" she said to Dustil. "We have to get to Carina and Mical's."

With the apartment only a hair's breadth away, there was no telling whether Carina and Mical were even alive at this moment—or whether they had been taken out in the first blast. The blasts were growing in frequency, sending people scattering in every direction, impeding their progress. They picked their way slowly along the perimeter, trying to keep a level pace.

As they rounded the corner, the door to Carina's apartment lay open, its hinges smoking and the console damaged, wires exposed and electricity sparking off into nowhere in particular. Igrayne ran forward but was prevented from flinging herself headlong into the room by Dustil's hand, which was grasping her forearm, rooting her to that spot.

"No, it's too dangerous!" he cautioned her. "The whole building is caving in. We've got to get out of this module before it's toast!"

"I'm _not _leaving my friend behind. You can come or you can go."

In that moment they locked eyes, and Igrayne saw the disapproval in Dustil's eyes.

"All right, but stay on your toes. There's no telling what we might find in there."

She focused on the smoke-filled room in front of her and began moving toward it with determination.


End file.
